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LIBRARY  OF  THE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 

PRINCETON,  N.  J. 


Presented  by 


The  W  i  diow  <G 


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DmsionJSI....  2.0t> 


Section 


S45 

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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2019  with  funding  from 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


https://archive.org/details/eccehomosurveyof00seel_2 


ECCE  HOMO 


O 

9 


A  SURVEY  OF 


LIFE  AND  WORK  OF 


THE 


JESUS  CHRIST. 


3. TV  5ee\ 


Auctor  nominis  ejus  Chrlstus  Tiberio  imperitante  per  procuratorem  Pontium 
Pilatum  supplicio  affectus  erat.  Tacit.  Ann.  1.  15. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 
i893- 


AUTHOR'S  EDITION. 


It  is  the  wish  of  the  author  that  his  arrangements  for 
the  publication  of  this  book  in  America  should  not  be 
interfered  with. 


University  Press  : 

John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


PREFACE. 


Those  who  feel  dissatisfied  with  the  current  con¬ 
ceptions  of  Christ,  if  they  cannot  rest  content  without 
a  definite  opinion,  may  find  it  necessary  to  do  what 
to  persons  not  so  dissatisfied  it  seems  audacious  and 
perilous  to  do.  They  may  be  obliged  to  reconsider 
the  whole  subject  from  the  beginning,  and  placing 
themselves  in  imagination  at  the  time  when  he 
whom  we  call  Christ  bore  no  such  name,  but  was 
simply,  as  St.  Luke  describes  him,  a  young  man 
of  promise,  popular  with  those  who  knew  him  and 
appearing  to  enjoy  the  Divine  favor,  to  trace  his 
biography  from  point  to  point,  and  accept  those 
conclusions  about  him,  not  which  church  doctors 
or  even  apostles  have  sealed  with  their  authority, 
but  which  the  facts  themselves,  critically  weighed, 
appear  to  warrant. 

This  is  what  the  present  writer  undertook  to  do 
for  the  satisfaction  of  his  own  mind,  and  because, 
after  reading  a  good  many  books  on  Christ,  he  felt 
still  constrained  to  confess  that  there  was  no  his- 


(3) 


4 


PREFACE. 


torical  character  whose  motives,  objects,  and  feel¬ 
ings  remained  so  incomprehensible  to  him.  The 
inquiry  which  proved  serviceable  to  himself  may 
chance  to  be  useful  to  others. 

What  is  now  published  is  a  fragment.  No  theolo¬ 
gical  questions  whatever  are  here  discussed.  Christ, 
as  the  creator  of  modern  theology  and  religion,  will 
make  the  subject  of  another  volume,  which,  how¬ 
ever,  the  author  does  not  hope  to  publish  for  some 
time  to  come.  In  the  mean  while  he  has  endeavored 
to  furnish  an  answer  to  the  question,  What  was 
Christ’s  object  in  founding  the  Society  which  is 
called  by  his  name,  and  how  is  it  adapted  to  attain 
that  object? 


CONTENTS 


FIRST  PART. 

CHAP.  PAGB 

I.  The  Baptist . 7 

II.  The  Temptation . 15 

III.  The  Kingdom  of  God . .24 

IV.  Christ’s  Royalty  . 3 7 

V.  Christ’s  Credentials . 49 

VI.  Christ’s  Winnowing  Fan  .  ....  6 1 

VII.  Conditions  of  Membership  in  Christ’s 

Kingdom  . 78 

VIII.  Baptism . 94 

IX.  Reflections  on  the  Nature  of 

Christ’s  Society . 100 

SECOND  PART. 

CHRIST'S  LEGISLATION . 

X.  Christ’s  Legislation  compared  with 

Philosophic  Systems . 118 

XI.  The  Christian  Republic . 132 

XII.  Universality  of  the  Christian  Re¬ 
public  . 139 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAGE 

XIII.  The  Christian  a  Law  to  Himself  .  155 

XIV.  The  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity  .  169 

XV.  The  Lord’s  Supper . 186 

XVI.  Positive  Morality . 195 

XVII.  The  Law  of  Philanthropy  .  .  .  206 

XVIII  The  Law  of  Edification  ....  220 

XIX.  The  Law  of  Mercy . 245 

XX.  Tile  Law  of  Mercy  (continued)  .  262 

XXI.  The  Law  of  Resentment  .  .  .  279 

XXII.  The  Law  of  Forgiveness  ....  303 


XXIII.  The  Law  of  Forgiveness  (continued)  324 
XXIV .  Conclusion . 339 


ECCE  HOMO, 


FIRST  PART. 

CHAPTER  I. 

THE  BAPTIST. 

THE  Christian  Church  sprang  from  a  move¬ 
ment  which  was  not  begun  by  Christ.  When  he 
appeared  upon  the  scene  the  first  wave  of  this  move¬ 
ment  had  already  passed  over  the  surface  of  the  Jew¬ 
ish  nation.  He  found  their  hearts  recently  stirred 
by  thoughts  and  hopes  which  prepared  them  to  listen 
to  his  words.  It  is  indeed  true  that  not  Judasa  only 
but  the  whole  Roman  Empire  was  in  a  condition 
singularly  favorable  to  the  reception  of  a  doctrine  and 
an  organization  such  as  that  of  the  Christian  Church. 
The  drama  of  ancient  society  had  been  played  out ; 
the  ancient  city  life,  with  the  traditions  and  morality 
belonging  to  it,  was  obsolete ;  a  vast  empire,  built 
upon  the  ruins  of  so  many  nationalities  and  upon  the 
disgrace  of  so  many  national  gods,  demanded  new 
usages  and  nev>  objects  of  worship  ;  a  vast  peace, 
where  war  between  neighboring  cities  had  been  the 
accustomed  condition  of  life  and  the  only  recognized 

(7) 


8 


ECCE  HOMO. 


teacher  of  virtue,  called  for  a  new  morality.  There 
was  a  clear  stage,  as  it  afterwards  appeared,  for  a 
Universal  Church.  But  Palestine  was  not  only  ready 
to  receive  such  an  innovation,  but  prepared,  even 
before  the  predestined  Founder  appeared,  to  make 
more  or  less  abortive  essays  towards  it.  At  the 
moment  of  his  almost  unobserved  entrance,  the  whole 
nation  were  intent  upon  the  career  of  one  who  was 
attempting  in  an  imperfect  manner  that  which  Christ 
afterwards  fully  accomplished. 

.  It  was  the  glory  of  John  the  Baptist  to  have  success¬ 
fully  revived  the  function  of  the  prophet.  For  several 
centuries  the  function  had  remained  in  abeyance.  It 
had  become  a  remote,  though  it  was  still  a  fondly 
cherished,  tradition  that  there  had  been  a  time  when 
the  nation  had  received  guidance  from  commissioned 
representatives  of  its  invisible  King.  We  possess  still 
the  utterances  of  many  of  these  prophets,  and  when 
we  consider  the  age  in  which  they  were  delivered,  we 
can  clearly  perceive  that  no  more  precious  treasure 
was  ever  bestowed  upon  a  nation  than  these  oracles 
of  God  which  were  committed  to  the  Jews.  They 
unite  in  what  was  then  the  most  effective  way  all  that 
is  highest  in  poetry  and  most  fundamental  in  political 
science  with  what  is  most  practical  in  philosophy  and 
most  inspiring  in  religion.  But  prophecy  was  one  of 
those  gifts  which,  like  poetiy  or  high  art,  are  particu¬ 
larly  apt  to  die  out  under  change  of  times.  Several 
centuries  had  succeeded  each  other  which  were  all 
alike  incapable  of  producing  it.  When  John  the 
Baptist  appeared,  not  the  oldest  man  in  Palestine 
could  remember  to  have  spoken  even  in  his  earliest 


THE  BAPTIST. 


9 


childhood  with  any  man  who  had  seen  a  prophet, 
The  ancient  scrolls  remained,  as  amongst  ourselves 
those  Gothic  cathedrals  remain,  of  which  we  may 
produce  more  or  less  faithful  imitations,  but  to  the 
number  of  which  we  shall  never  add  another.  In 
these  circumstances  it  was  an  occurrence  of  the  first 
magnitude,  more  important  far  than  war  or  revolution, 
when  a  new  prophet  actually  appeared.  John  the 
Baptist  defied  all  the  opposition  of  those  scribes ,  who 
in  the  long  silence  of  the  prophetic  inspiration  had 
become  the  teachers  of  the  nation,  and  who  resisted 
him  with  the  conservatism  of  lawyers  united  to  the 
bigotry  of  priests.  He  made  his  way  back  to  the 
hidden  fountains,  and  received  at  last  that  national 
acknowledgment  which  silenced  even  these  profes¬ 
sional  jealousies,  that  irresistible  voice  of  the  people 
in  which  the  Jew  was  accustomed  to  hear  the  voice  of 
God.  Armed  with  the  prophetic  authority,  he  under¬ 
took  a  singular  enterprise,  of  which  probably  most  of 
those  who  witnessed  it  died  without  suspecting  the 
importance,  but  which  we  can  see  to  have  been  the 
foundation  of  the  Universal  Church. 

There  may  have  been  many  who  listened  with  awe 
to  his  prophetic  summons,  and  presented  themselves 
as  candidates  for  his  baptism  in  implicit  faith  that  the 
ordinance  was  divine,  who  nevertheless  in  after  years 
asked  themselves  what  purpose  it  had  served.  It  was 
a  solemn  scene  doubtless,  when  crowds  from  every 
part  of  Palestine  gathered  by  the  side  of  Jordan,  and 
there  renewed,  as  it  were,  the  covenant  made  between 
their  ancestor  and  Jehovah.  It  seemed  the  beginning 
of  a  new  age,  the  restoration  of  the  ancient  theocracy, 

i  * 


to 


ECCE  HOMO. 


the  filial  close  of  that  dismal  period  in  which  the  race 
had  lost  its  peculiarity,  had  taken  a  varnish  of  Greek 
manners,  and  had  contributed  nothing  but  a  few  dull 
chapters  of  profane  history,  filled  with  the  usual  chaos 
of  faction  fights,  usurpations,  royal  crimes,  and  out¬ 
breaks,  blind  and  brave,  of  patriotism  and  the  love  of 
liberty.  But  many  of  those  who  witnessed  the  scene 
and  shared  in  the  enthusiasm  which  it  awakened  must 
have  remembered  it  in  later  days  as  having  inspired 
hopes  which  had  not  been  realized.  It  must  have 
seemed  to  many  that  the  theocracy  had  not  in  fact 
been  restored,  that  the  old  routine  had  been  inter¬ 
rupted  only  for  a  moment,  that  the  baptized  nation 
had  speedily  contracted  new  pollution,  and  that  no 
deliverance  had  been  wrought  from  the  4  wrath  to 
come.’  And  they  may  have  asked  in  doubt,  Is  God 
so  little  parsimonious  of  His  noblest  gift,  as  to  waste 
upon  a  doomed  generation  that  which  He  did  not 
vouchsafe  to  many  nobler  generations  that  had  pre¬ 
ceded  them,  and  to  send  a  second  and  far  greater 
Elijah  to  prophesy  in  vain  ? 

But  if  there  were  such  persons,  they  were  ignorant 
of  one  important  fact.  John  the  Baptist  was  like  the 
Emperor  Nerva.  In  his  career  it  was  given  him 
to  do  two  things  —  to  inaugurate  a  new  regime,  and 
also  to  nominate  a  successor  who  was  far  greater  than 
himself.  And  by  this  successor  his  work  was  taken 
up,  developed,  completed,  and  made  permanent ;  so 
diat,  however  John  may  have  seemed  to  his  own  gen¬ 
eration  to  have  lived  in  vain,  and  those  scenes  on  the 
banks  of  Jordan  to  have  been  the  delusive  promise  of 
a  future  that  was  never  to  be.  at  the  distance  of  near 


THE  BAPTIST. 


II 


two  thousand  years  he  appears  not  less  but  far  greater 
than  he  appeared  to  his  contemporaries,  and  all  that 
his  baptism  promised  to  do  appears  utterly  insignifi¬ 
cant  compared  with  what  it  has  actually  done. 

The  Baptist  addressed  all  who  came  to  him  in  the 
same  stern  tone  of  authority.  Young  and  old  gath¬ 
ered  round  him,  and  among  them  must  have  been 
many  whom  he  had  known  in  earlier  life,  and  some  to 
whom  he  had  been  taught  to  look  up  with  humility 
and  respect.  But  in  his  capacity  of  prophet  he  made 
no  distinction.  All  alike  he  exhorted  to  repentance ; 
all  alike  he  found  courage  to  baptize.  In  a  single 
case,  however,  his  confidence  failed  him.  There 
appeared  among  the  candidates  a  young  man  of 
nearly  his  own  age,  who  was  related  to  his  family. 
We  must  suppose  that  he  had  had  personal  inter¬ 
course  with  Christ  before ;  for  though  one  of  our 
authorities  represents  John  as  saying  that  he  knew 
him  not  except  by  the  supernatural  sign  that  pointed 
him  out  at  his  baptism,  yet  we  must  interpret  this 
as  meaning  only  that  he  did  not  before  know  him 
for  his  successor.  For  it  appears  that  before  the 
appearance  of  the  sign  John  had  addressed  Christ 
with  expressions  of  reverence,  and  had  declared  him¬ 
self  unfit  to  baptize  him.  After  this  meeting  we  are 
told  that  on  several  occasions  he  pointed  out  Christ  as 
the  hope  of  the  nation,  as  destined  to  develop  the 
work  he  himself  had  begun  into  something  far  more 
memorable,  and  as  so  greatly  superior  to  himself,  that, 
to  repeat  his  emphatic  words,  he  was  not  worthy  to 
untie  his  shoe. 

Now,  before  we  enter  into  an  examination  of  Christ’s 


12 


ECCE  HOMO. 


own  public  career,  it  will  be  interesting  to  conside; 
wha  t  definite  qualities  this  contemporary  and  sagacious 
observer  remarked  in  him,  and  exactly  what  he  ex¬ 
pected  him  to  do.  The  Baptist’s  opinion  of  Christ’s 
character  then  is  summed  up  for  us  in  the  title  he  gave 
him  — •  the  Lamb  of  God  taking  away  the  sins  of  the 
world.  There  seems  to  be  in  the  last  part  of  this  de¬ 
scription  an  allusion  to  the  usages  of  the  Jewish  sacri¬ 
ficial  system,  and  in  order  to  explain  it  fully  it  would 
be  necessary  to  anticipate  much  that  will  come  more 
conveniently  later  in  this  treatise.  But  when  we  re¬ 
member  that  the  Baptist’s  mind  was  doubtless  full  of 
imagery  drawn  from  the  Old  Testament,  and  that  the 
conception  of  a  lamb  of  God  makes  the  subject  of 
one  of  the  most  striking  of  the  Psalms,  we  shall  per 
ceive  what  he  meant  to  convey  by  this  phrase.  The 
Psalmist  describes  himself  as  one  of  Jehovah’s  flock, 
safe  under  His  care,  absolved  from  all  anxieties  by  the 
sense  of  His  protection,  and  gaining  from  this  confi¬ 
dence  of  safety  the  leisure  to  enjoy  without  satiety  all 
the  simple  pleasures  which  make  up  life,  the  freshness 
of  the  meadow,  the  coolness  of  the  stream.  It  is  the 
most  complete  picture  of  happiness  that  ever  was  or 
can  be  drawn.  It  represents  that  state  of  mind  for 
which  all  alike  sigh,  and  the  want  of  which  makes 
life  a  failure  to  most ;  it  represents  that  Heaven  which 
is  everywhere  if  we  could  but  enter  it,  and  yet  almost 
nowhere  because  so  few  of  us  can.  The  two  or  three 
who  win  it  may  be  called  victors  in  life’s  conflict ;  to 
them  belongs  the  regnum  et  diadema  tuturn .  They 
may  pass  obscure  lives  in  humble  dwellings,  or  like 
Fra  Angelico  in  a  narrow  monastic  cell,  but  they  are 


THE  BAPTIST. 


vexed  with  no  flap  of  unclean  wings  about  the  ceiling. 
From  some  such  humble  dwelling  Christ  came  to 
receive  the  prophet’s  baptism.  The  Baptist  was  no 
lamb  of  God.  He  was  a  wrestler  with  life,  one  to 
whom  peace’  of  mind  does  not  come  easily,  but  only 
after  a  long  struggle.  His  restlessness  had  driven  him 
into  the  desert,  where  he  had  contended  for  years  with 
thoughts  he  could  not  master,  and  from  whence  he 
had  uttered  his  startling  alarum  to  the  nation.  He 
was  among  the  dogs  rather  than  among  the  lambs  of 
the  Shepherd.  He  recognized  the  superiority  of  him 
whose  confidence  had  never  been  disturbed,  whose 
steadfast  peace  no  agitations  of  life  had  ever  ruffled. 
He  did  obeisance  to  the  royalty  of  inward  happiness. 

One  who  was  to  earn  the  name  of  Saviour  of  man¬ 
kind  had  need  of  this  gift  more  than  of  any  other. 
He  who  was  to  reconcile  God  and  man  needed  to  be 
first  at  peace  himself.  The  door  of  heaven,  so  to 
speak,  can  be  opened  only  from  within.  Such  then 
was  the  impression  of  Christ’s  character  which  the 
Baptist  formed.  What  now  did  he  expect  him  to  do? 

He  said  that  Christ  bore  a  fan  in  his  hand,  with 
which  he  would  winnow  the  nation,  gathering  the 
good  around  him,  separating  and  rejecting  the  bad. 
We  shall  find  occasion  soon  to  speak  of  this  more 
particularly  ;  at  present  let  us  remark  that  it  shows  us 
what  course  the  Baptist  imagined  that  the  movement 
he  had  commenced  would  take.  He  had  renewed  the 
old  theocratic  covenant  with  the  nation.  But  not  all 
the  nation  was  fit  to  remain  in  such  a  covenant.  A 
sifting  was  necessary  ;  from  the  approaching  downfall 
of  the  Jewish  nationality,  from  the  wrath  to  come,  an 


ECCE  HOMO. 


H 

election  should  be  rescued  who  should  perpetuate 
the  covenant.  It  is  superfluous  to  remark  how  just 
this  anticipation  was,  and  how  precisely  it  describes 
Chrisf-s  work,  which  consisted  in  collecting  all  the 
better  spirits  of  the  nation,  and  bringing  them  under 
that  revised  covenant  which  we  call  Christianity,  and 
which  survived  and  diffused  itself  after  the  fall  of  the 
Temple. 

Further,  Christ  was  to  baptize  with  a  holy  spirit 
and  with  fire.  John  felt  his  own  baptism  to  have 
something  cold  and  negative  about  it.  It  was  a  re¬ 
nouncing  of  definite  bad  practices.  The  soldier 
bound  himself  to  refrain  from  violence,  the  tax-gath¬ 
erer  from  extortion.  But  more  than  this  was  wanting. 
It  was  necessary  that  an  enthusiasm  should  be  kindled. 
The  phrase  4  baptize  with  fire  ’  seems  at  first  sight  to 
contain  a  mixture  of  metaphors.  Baptism  means 
cleansing,  and  fire  means  warmth.  How  can  warmth 
cleanse?  The  answer  is,  that  moral  warmth  does 
cleanse.  No  heart  is  pure  that  is  not  passionate  ;  no 
virtue  is  safe  that  is  not  enthusiastic.  And  such  an 
enthusiastic  virtue  Christ  was  to  introduce.  The 
whole  of  the  present  volume  will  be  a  comment  on 
this  text. 


*5 


CHAPTER  II 


THE  TEMPTATION 


ET  us  delay  a  few  more  moments  on  the  threshold 


J— '  of  our  subject,  while  we  consider  an  incident 
which  is  said  to  have  occurred  just  before  Christ 
entered  upon  the  work  of  his  life. 

Signs  miraculous  or  considered  miraculous  are  said 
to  have  attested  the  greatness  of  Christ’s  mission  at 
the  moment  of  his  baptism.  There  settled  on  his 
head  a  dove,  in  which  the  Baptist  saw  a  visible  incar¬ 
nation  of  that  Holy  Spirit  with  which  he  declared  that 
Christ  should  baptize.  A  sound  was  heard  in  the  sky 
which  was  interpreted  as  the  voice  of  God  Himself, 
acknowledging  His  beloved  Son.  In  the  agitation  of 
mind  caused  by  his  baptism,  by  the  Baptist’s  designa¬ 
tion  of  him  as  the  future  prophet,  and  by  these  signs, 
Christ  retired  into  the  wilderness ;  and  there  in  soli¬ 
tude,  and  after  a  mental  struggle  such  as  John  per¬ 
haps  had  undergone  before  he  appeared  as  the  prophet 
•  of  the  nation,  matured  that  plan  of  action  which  we 
see  him  executing  with  the  firmest  assurance  and  con¬ 
sistency  from  the  moment  of  his  return  to  society.  A 
particular  account,  also  involving  some  miraculous 
circumstances,  of  the  temptations  with  which  he  con¬ 
tended  successfully  in  the  wilderness,  is  given  in  oui 
biographies. 


1 6 


ECCE  HOMO. 


Miracles  are,  in  themselves,  extremely  improbable 
things,  and  cannot  be  admitted  unless  supported  by  a 
great  concurrence  of  evidence.  For  some  of  the 
Evangelical  miracles  there  is  a  concurrence  of  evi¬ 
dence  which,  when  fairly  considered,  is  very  great 
indeed ;  for  example,  for  the  Resurrection,  for  the 
appearance  of  Christ  to  St.  Paul,  for  the  general  fact 
that  Christ  was  a  miraculous  healer  of  disease.  The 
evidence  by  which  these  facts  are  supported  cannot  be 
tolerably  accounted  for  by  any  hypothesis  except  that 
of  their  being  true.  And  if  they  are  once  admitted, 
the  antecedent  improbability  of  many  miracles  less 
strongly  attested  is  much  diminished.  Nevertheless 
nothing  is  more  natural  than  that  exaggerations  and 
even  inventions  should  be  mixed  in  our  biographies 
with  genuine  facts.  Now  the  miracles  of  the  baptism 
are  not  among  those  which  are  attested  by  strong 
external  evidence.  There  is  nothing  necessarily  mi¬ 
raculous  in  the  appearance  of  the  dove,  and  a  peal  of 
thunder  might  be  shaped  into  intelligible  words  by  the 
excited  imagination  of  men  accustomed  to  consider 
thunder  as  the  voice  of  God.  Of  the  incidents  of  the 
temptation  it  is  to  be  remarked  that  they  are  not 
described  to  us  by  eye-witnesses  ;  they  may  have  been 
communicated  to  his  followers  by  Christ  himself,  the 
best  of  witnesses,  but  we  have  no  positive  assurance 
that  they  were  so  communicated. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  retirement  of  Christ  into  the 
desert,  and  a  remarkable  mental  struggle  at  the  begin¬ 
ning  of  his  career,  are  incidents  extremely  probable 
in  themselves ;  and  the  account  of  the  temptation, 
from  whatever  source  derived,  has  a  very  striking 


THE  TEMPTATION. 


17 


internal  consistency,  a  certain  inimitable  probability 
of  improbability,  if  the  expression  may  be  allowed. 
That  popular  imagination  which  gives  birth  to  rumors 
and  then  believes  them,  is  not  generally  capable  of 
great  or  sublime  or  well-sustained  efforts. 

Wunclerthatige  Bilder  sind  meist  nur  schlechte  Gemalde.1 

The  popular  imagination  is  fertile  and  tenacious,  but 
not  very  powerful  or  profound.  Christ  in  the  wilder¬ 
ness  was  a  subject  upon  which  the  imagination  would 
very  readily  work,  but  at  the  same  time  far  too  great  a 
subject  for  it  to  work  upon  successfully  ;  we  should  ex¬ 
pect  strange  stories  to  be  told  of  his  adventures  in  such 
a  solitude,  but  we  should  also  expect  the  stories  to  be 
very  childish.  Now  the  story  of  Christ’s  temptation  is 
as  unique  as  Christ’s  character.  It  is  such  a  tempta¬ 
tion  as  was  never  experienced  by  any  one  else,  yet  just 
such  a  temptation  as  Christ,  and  Christ  in  those  pecu¬ 
liar  circumstances,  might  be  expected  to  experience. 
And  further,  this  appropriateness  of  all  the  circum¬ 
stances  hardly  seems  to  be  perceived  by  the  Evange¬ 
lists  themselves  who  narrate  them.  Their  narrative 
is  not  like  a  poem,  though  it  affords  the  materials  for 
a  poem  ;  it  is  rather  a  dry  chronicle. 

Let  us  consider  the  situation.  We  are  to  fix  in  our 
minds  Christ’s  peculiar  character,  as  it  has  been  gath* 
ered  from  the  Baptist’s  description  of  him.  His  char¬ 
acter  then  was  such  that  he  was  compared  to  a  lamb, 
a  lamb  of  God.  He  was  without  ambition,  and  he 
had  a  peculiar,  unrivalled  simplicity  of  devout  confi¬ 
dence  in  God.  Such  is  the  person  to  whom  it  is  now 
announced  by  a  great  prophet  that  he  has  been  called 


ECCE  HOMO. 


IS 

to  a  most  peculiar,  a  preeminent  career.  But  this 
does  not  fully  describe  the  situation ;  a  most  important 
circumstance  has  yet  to  be  mentioned.  From  the  time 
of  his  temptation,  Christ  appeared  as  a  worker  of 
miracles.  We  are  expressly  told  by  St.  John  that  he 
had  wrought  none  before,  but  all  our  authorities  con¬ 
cur  in  representing  him  as  possessing  and  using  the 
gift  after  this  time.  We  are  to  conceive  him  therefore 
as  becoming  now  for  the  first  time  conscious  of  mirac¬ 
ulous  powers.  Now  none  of  our  biographies  point 
this  out,  and  yet  it  is  visibly  the  key  to  the  whole  nar¬ 
ration.  What  is  called  Christ’s  temptation  is  the  ex¬ 
citement  of  his  mind  which  was  caused  by  the  nascent 
consciousness  of  supernatural  power. 

He  finds  himself  in  a  barren  region  without  food. 
The  tumult  of  his  mind  has  hitherto  kept  him  uncon¬ 
scious  of  his  bodily  wants,  but  the  overwhelming  reac¬ 
tion  of  lassitude  now  comes  on.  And  with  the  hunger 
comes  the  temptation,  4  Son  of  God,  into  whose  ser¬ 
vice  all  natural  forces  have  been  given,  command  that 
these  stones  become  bread.’  The  possession  of  special 
power,  and  nothing  else,  constitutes  the  temptation 
here ;  it  is  the  greatest  with  which  virtue  can  be  as¬ 
sailed.  By  it  the  virtuous  man  is  removed  from  ordi¬ 
nary  rules,  from  the  safe  course  which  has  been  marked 
by  the  footsteps  of  countless  good  men  before  him, 
and  has  to  make,  as  it  were,  a  new  morality  for  him¬ 
self.  In  difficult  circumstances  few  men  can  wield 
extraordinary  power  long  without  positively  commit¬ 
ting  crime.  But  here  we  see  the  good  man  placed  in  a 
position  utterly  strange,  deprived  of  the  stay  of  all  pre¬ 
cedent  or  example,  gifted  with  power  not  only  extraor- 


THE  TEMPTATION. 


19 


dinary  but  supernatural  and  unlimited,  and  thrown 
for  his  morality  entirely  upon  the  instinct  cf  virtue 
within  him.  Philosophers  had  imagined  soire  such 
situation,  and  had  presented  it  under  the  fable  of  the 
ring  of  Gyges,  but  with  them  the  only  question  was 
whether  distinctions  of  right  and  wrong  would  not 
vanish  altogether  in  such  circumstances.  The  ques¬ 
tion  by  which  Christ’s  mind  was  perplexed  was  far 
different ;  it  was  what  newer  and  stricter  obligations 
are  involved  in  the  possession  of  new  powers. 

A  strange,  and  yet,  given  the  exceptional  circum¬ 
stances,  a  most  natural  and  necessary  temptation. 
Still  more  unique,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  natural,  is 
Christ’s  resistance  to  it.  Unique  by  its  elevation,  and 
natural  by  its  appropriateness  to  his  character.  He  is 
awe-struck  rather  than  elated  by  his  new  gifts ;  he  de¬ 
clines  to  use  for  his  own  convenience  what  he  regards 
as  a  sacred  deposit  committed  to  him  for  the  good  of 
others.  In  his  extreme  need  he  prefers  to  suffer  rather 
than  to  help  himself  from  resources  which  he  con¬ 
ceives  placed  in  his  hands  in  trust  for  the  kingdom  of 
God.  Did  ever  inventor  or  poet  dare  to  picture  to 
himself  a  self-denial  like  this?  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
what  course  could  so  exactly  suit  the  character  of 
Christ  as  the  Baptist  painted  it?  What  answer  could 
more  exquisitely  become  the  Lamb  of  God  than  that 
quotation  — c  Man  doth  not  live  by  bread  only,  but  by 
every  word  that  proceeds  out  of  the  mouth  of  God’? 
Is  it  not  substantially  the  same  as  that  which  the 
Psalmist  uses  in  the  very  psalm  in  which  he  pictures 
himself  as  one  of  God’s  lambs,  4  He  prepareth  for  me 
a  table  in  the  wilderness’? 


20 


ECCE  HOMO. 


Then  follows  a  temptation,  which  again  is  extremely 
appropriate,  because  it  is  founded  upon  this  'very  con¬ 
fidence  of  Divine  protection.  A  new  temptation  arises 
by  reaction  out  of  the  triumph  of  faith  :  4  Throw  thy¬ 
self  down,  for  it  is  written,  He  shall  give  His  angels 
charge  over  thee,  and  in  their  hands  they  shall  bear 
thee  up/  To  no  other  person  but  Christ  could  such  a 
temptation  occur  ;  to  him,  we  may  boldly  say,  such  a 
temptation  must ,  at  some  time,  have  occurred.  And 
if  in  the  Son  of  God  there  was  filial  reverence  as  well 
as  filial  confidence,  it  must  have  been  resisted,  as  it  is 
lecorded  to  have  been  resisted,  4  Thou  shalt  not  tempt 
the  Lord  thy  God.’ 

The  third  temptation  is  somewhat  less  easy  to  un¬ 
derstand,  but  its  appropriateness  to  the  character  and 
condition  of  Christ,  and  its  utter  inappropriateness  to 
every  other  character  and  condition,  are  quite  as  clear. 
A  vision  of  universal  monarchy  rose  before  him. 
What  suggested  such  thoughts  to  the  son  of  a  carpen¬ 
ter?  What  but  the  same  new  sense  of  supernatural 
power  which  tempted  him  to  turn  stones  into  bread, 
and  to  throw  himself  into  the  arms '  of  ministering 
angels?  This,  together  with  the  Baptist’s  predictions, 
and  those  Messianic  predictions  of  the  ancient  proph¬ 
ets,  on  which  we  can  imagine  that  he  had  been  in¬ 
tensely  brooding,  might  naturally  suggest  such  an 
imagination.  He  pictured  himself  enthroned  in  Jeru¬ 
salem  as  Messiah,  and  the  gold  of  Arabia  offered  in 
tribute  to  him.  But,  says  the  narrative,  the  devil  said 
to  Him ,  If  thou  wilt  fall  down  a7id  worship  ?ne , 
all  shall  be  thine .  This,  at  least,  it  may  be  thought, 
was  not  a  temptation  likely  to  overcome  the  Lamb  of 


THE  TEMPTATION. 


21 


God.  One  remarkable  for  simplicity  of  character,  one 
who  was  struggling  with  the  fresh  conviction  that  he 
was  himself  that  Messiah,  that  beloved  Son  of  God, 
whose  glorious  reign  wise  men  had  been  permitted  to 
foresee  from  a  distance  of  centuries ;  was  he,  in  the 
moment  of  his  first  enthusiasm,  and  fresh  in  the  pos¬ 
session  of  sacred  prerogatives  of  power,  which  lie 
feared  to  use  in  self-defence  even  against  famine, 
likely  to  do  homage  to  a  spirit  of  evil  for  that  which 
he  must  have  believed  to  be  surely  his  by  gift  of  God  ? 
We  should  remember  that  the  report  of  these  tempta¬ 
tions,  if  trustworthy,  must  have  come  to  us  through 
Christ  himself,  and  that  it  may  probably  contain  the 
facts  mixed  with  his  comments  upon  them.  We  are 
perhaps  to  understand  that  he  was  tempted  to  do 
something  which  on  reflection  appeared  to  him 
equivalent  to  an  act  of  homage  to  the  evil  spirit. 
What  then  could  this  be  ?  It  will  explain  much  that 
follows  in  Christ’s  life,  and  render  the  whole  story 
very  complete  and  consistent,  if  we  suppose  that  what 
he  was  tempted  to  do  was  to  employ  force  in  the  estab¬ 
lishment  of  his  Messianic  kingdom.  On  this  hypothe¬ 
sis,  the  third  temptation  arises  from  the  same  source 
as  the  others  ;  the  mental  struggle  is  still  caused  by  the 
question  how  to  use  the  supernatural  power.  Nothing 
more  natural  than  that  it  should  occur  to  Christ  that 
this  power  was  expressly  given  to  him  for  the  purpose 
of  establishing,  in  defiance  of  all  resistance,  his  ever¬ 
lasting  kingdom.  He  must  have  heard  from  his  in¬ 
structors  that  the  Messiah  was  to  put  all  enemies  under 
his  feet,  and  to  crush  all  opposition  by  irresistible  God- 
given  might.  This  certainly  was  the  general  expecta- 


22 


ECCE  HOMO. 


tion ;  this  appeared  legibly  written  in  the  prophetical 
books.  And,  in  the  sequel,  it  was  because  Christ 
refused  to  use  his  supernatural  power  in  this  way  that 
his  countrymen  rejected  him.  It  was  not  that  they 
expected  a  king,  and  that  he  appeared  only  as  a 
teacher ;  on  the  contrary,  he  systematically  described 
himself  as  a  king.  The  stumbling-block  was  this, 
that,  professing  to  be  a  king,  he  declined  to  use  the 
weapons  of  force  and  compulsion  that  belong  to 
kings.  And  as  this  caused  so  much  surprise  to  his 
countrymen,  it  is  natural  that  he  should  himself  have 
undergone  a  struggle  before  he  determined  thus  to  run 
counter  to  the  traditional  theory  of  the  Messiah  and  to 
all  the  prejudices  of  the  nation.  The  tempter,  we  may 
suppose,  approached  him  with  the  whisper,  4  Gird 
thee  with  thy  sword  upon  thy  thigh  ;  ride  on,  and  thy 
right  hand  shall  teach  thee  terrible  things.’ 

If  this  was  the  temptation,  then  again  how  charac¬ 
teristic  of  the  Lamb  of  God  was  the  resistance  to  it, 
and  at  the  same  time  how  incomparably  great  the  self- 
restraint  involved  in  that  resistance  !  One  who  be¬ 
lieves  himself  born  for  universal  monarchy,  and 
capable  by  his  rule  of  giving  happiness  to  the  world, 
is  intrusted  with  powers  which  seem  to  afford  the 
ready  means  of  attaining  that  supremacy.  By  the 
overwhelming  force  of  visible  miracle  it  is  possible  for 
him  to  establish  an  absolute  dominion,  and  to  give  to 
the  race  the  laws  which  may  make  it  happy.  But  he 
deliberately  determines  to  adopt  another  course,  to 
found  his  empire  upon  the  consent  and  not  the  fears 
of  mankind,  to  trust  himself  with  his  royal  claims  and 
his  terrible  purity  and  superiority  defenceless  among 


THE  TEMPTATION. 


23 


mankind,  and,  however  bitterly  their  envy  may  perse¬ 
cute  him,  to  use  his  supernatural  powers  only  in  doing 
them  good.  This  he  actually  did,  and  evidently  in 
pursuance  of  a  fixed  plan ;  he  persevered  in  this 
course,  although  politically,  so  to  speak,  it  was  fatal 
to  his  position,  and  though  it  bewildered  his  most 
attached  followers  ;  but  by  doing  so  he  raised  himself 
to  a  throne  on  which  he  has  been  seated  for  nigh  two 
thousand  years,  and  gained  an  authority  over  men 
greater  far  than  they  have  allowed  to  any  legislator, 
greater  than  prophecy  had  ever  attributed  to  the 
Messiah  himself. 

As  the  time  of  his  retirement  in  the  wilderness  was 
file  season  in  which  we  may  suppose  the  plan  of  his 
subsequent  career  was  formed,  and  the  only  season  in 
which  he  betrayed  any  hesitation  or  mental  perplexity, 
A  is  natural  to  suppose  that  he  formed  this  particular 
determination  at  this  time  ;  and,  if  so,  the  narrative 
gains  completeness  and  consistency  by  the  hypothesis 
that  the  act  of  homage  to  the  evil  spirit  to  which 
Christ  was  tempted,  was  the  founding  his  Messianic 
kingdom  upon  force. 

Such  then  is  the  story  of  Christ’s  temptation.  It 
rests,  indeed,  on  no  very  strong  external  evidence,  and 
there  may  be  exaggeration  in  its  details ;  but  in  its 
substance  it  can  scarcely  be  other  than  true,  first, 
because  it  is  so  much  stranger  than  fiction,  and  next, 
because  in  its  strangeness  it  is  so  nicely  adapted  to  the 
character  of  Christ  as  we  already  know  it,  and  still 
more  as  it  will  unfold  itself  to  us  in  the  course  of  this 
investigation 


2A 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  KINGDOM  OF  GOD. 

IT  is  the  object  of  the  present  treatise  to  exhibit 
Christ’s  career  in  outline.  No  other  career  ever 
had  so  much  unity ;  no  other  biography  is  so  simple, 
or  can  so  well  afford  to  dispense  with  details.  Men 
in  general  take  up  scheme  after  scheme,  as  circum¬ 
stances  suggest  one  or  another,  and  therefore  most 
biographies  are  compelled  to  pass  from  one  subject 
to  another,  and  to  enter  into  a  multitude  of  minute 
questions,  to  divide  the  life  carefully  into  periods  by 
chronological  landmarks  accurately  determined,  to 
trace  the  gradual  development  of  character  and  ripen¬ 
ing  or  change  of  opinions.  But  Christ  formed  one 
plan  and  executed  it ;  no  important  change  took  place 
in  his  mode  of  thinking,  speaking,  or  acting ;  at  least 
the  evidence  before  us  does  not  enable  us  to  trace  any 
such  change.  It  is  possible,  indeed,  for  students  of 
his  life  to  find  details  which  they  may  occupy  them¬ 
selves  with  discussing ;  they  may  map  out  the  chro¬ 
nology  of  it,  and  devise  methods  of  harmonizing  the 
different  accounts ;  but  such  details  are  of  little 
importance  compared  vvfith  the  one  grand  question, 
what  was  Christ’s  plan,  and  throw  scarcely  any  light 
upon  that  question.  What  was  Christ’s  plan,  is  the 
main  question  which  will  be  investigated  in  the 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  GOD 


25 


present  treatise,  and  that  vision  of  universal  monar¬ 
chy  which  we  have  just  been  considering  affords  an 
appropriate  introduction  to  it. 

>  In  discussing  that  vision  we  were  obliged  to  antici¬ 
pate.  Let  us  now  inquire  as  a  new  question,  what 
course  Christ  adopted  when  he  mingled  once  more 
with  his  fellow-countrymen  after  his  seclusion  in  the 
wilderness,  and  when  he  entered  upon  his  public 
career?  John’s  message  to  the  nation  had  been,  as 
we  have  seen,  ‘  The  kingdom  of  God  is  at  hand.’ 
Now  this  proclamation  Christ  took  up  from  his 
lips  and  carried  everywhere.  For  a  while  the  two 
prophets  worked  simultaneously,  though,  as  it  seems, 
separately,  and  the  preaching  of  the  one  was  an  echo 
of  that  of  the  other.  Our  first  object,  then,  must  be 
to  ascertain  what  it  was  which  they  anticipated  under 
the  name  of  the  kingdom  of  God.  And  to  ascertain 
this  we  should  not  look  onward  to  that  which  actually 
took  place,  but  placing  ourselves  in  imagination  among 
their  audience,  consider  what  meaning  a  Jew  would 
be  likely  to  attach  to  the  proclamation  they  delivered. 
The  conception  of  a  kingdom  of  God  was  no  new 
one,  but  familiar  to  every  Jew.  Every  Jew  looked 
back  to  the  time  when  Jehovah  was  regarded  as  the 
King  of  Israel.  The  title  had  belonged  to  Jehovah 
in  a  very  peculiar  sense  ;  it  had  not  been  transferred  to 
Him  from  the  visible  earthly  king  as  in  many  other 
countries,  but  appropriated  to  Him  so  exclusively  that 
for  a  long  time  no  human  king  had  been  appointed, 
and  that  when  at  last  the  people  demanded  to  be  ruled 
by  kings  like  the  nations  around  them,  the  demand 
was  treated  by  the  most  ardent  worshippers  of  Jehovah 

2 


/ 


26 


ECCE  HOMO. 


as  high  treason  against  Him.  And  though  a  dynasty 
was  actually  founded,  yet  the  belief  in  the  true  royalty 
of  Jehovah  was  not  destroyed  or  weakened,  only 
modified  by  the  change.  Every  nation  of  originality 
has  its  favorite  principles,  its  political  intuitions, 
to  which  it  clings  with  fondness.  One  nation  ad¬ 
mires  free  speech  and  liberty,  another  the  equality 
of  ail  citizens;  just  in  the  same  manner  the  Jews 
attached  themselves  to  the  principle  of  the  Sover¬ 
eignty  of  God,  and  believed  the  happiness  of  the 
nation  to  depend  upon  its  free  acknowledgment  of 
this  principle.  But  in  the  time  of  Christ  all  true 
Jews  were  depressed  with  the  feeling  that  the  theoc¬ 
racy  was  in  a  great  degree  a  thing  of  the  past,  that 
they  were  in  a  new  age  with  new  things  about  them, 
that  Greek  and  Roman  principles  and  ways  of  think¬ 
ing  were  in  the  ascendant,  and  that  the  face  of  the 
Invisible  King  no  longer  shone  full  upon  them.  This 
feeling  had  become  so  deep  and  habitual,  that  at  a 
much  earlier  time  the  sect  of  the  Pharisees  had  been 
formed  to  preserve  the  peculiarity  of  the  nation  from 
the  inroad  of  foreign  thought,  and  whatever  ancient 
Jewish  feeling  remained  had  gathered  itself  into  this 
sect  as  into  a  last  citadel.  In  these  circumstances  the 
cry,  the  kingdom  of  God  is  at  hand,  could  not  be  mis¬ 
taken.  It  meant  that  the  theocracy  was  to  be  restored, 
that  the  nation  was  called  to  commence  a  new  era  by 
falling  back  upon  its  first  principles. 

In  making  this  proclamation  John  and  Christ  did 
not  assume  any  new  character.  They  revived  the 
obsolete  function  of  the  prophet,  and  did  for  their 
generation  what  a  Samuel  and  an  Elijah  had  done  for 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  GOD. 


2? 


theirs.  As  every  great  nation  has  its  favorite  political 
principles,  so  it  has  its  peculiar  type  of  statesmen. 
The  nation  which  strives  after  individual  liberty  pro¬ 
duces  statesmen  whose  principal  qualities  are  personal 
independence,  moral  courage,  and  a  certain  skill  in 
quarrelling  by  rule.  The  pursuit  of  equality  produces 
men  of  commanding  will,  who  are  able  to  crush 
aristocratical  insolence,  and  by  ruling  the  country 
themselves  to  prevent  the  citizens  from  tyrannizing 
over  each  other.  In  like  manner  the  peculiar  political 
genius  of  the  Jews  produced  a  peculiar  type  of  states¬ 
men.  The  man  who  rose  to  eminence  in  that  com¬ 
monwealth  was  the  man  who  had  a  stronger  sense 
than  others  of  the  presence,  power,  and  justice  of  the 
Invisible  King,  and  his  great  function  was  to  awaken 
the  same  sense  in  others  by  eloquent  words  and  de¬ 
cided  acts.  The  Jewish  statesman  was  the  prophet, 
and  his  business  was  to  redeliver  to  each  successive 
generation,  in  the  language  likely  to  prove  most  con¬ 
vincing  and  persuasive  to  it,  a  proclamation  of  which 
the  meaning  always  was,  ‘  the  kingdom  of  God  is  at 
hand.’  The  occasion  of  such  proclamation  might  be 
peculiar  and  determine  it  to  a  peculiar  form,  but  one 
general  description  of  the  Jewish  prophet  will  apply 
to  all  of  them,  including  John  and  Christ,  viz.  that  he 
is  one  who,  foreseeing  the  approach  of  great  national 
calamities  and  attributing  them  to  the  nation’s  dis- 
loyalty  to  their  Invisible  King,  devotes  himself  to  the 
task  of  averting  them  by  a  reformation  of  manners 
and  an  emphatic  republication  of  the  Mosaic  Law. 
All  the  Jewish  prophets  answer  this  description, 
whether  the  calamity  they  foresee  be  a  plague  of 


ECCE  HOMO. 


28 

locusts,  an  Assyrian  invasion,  a  Babylonish  captivity, 
or  a  Roman  conquest  with  the  abomination  of  desola¬ 
tion  standing  in  the  holy  place. 

So  far  all  prophets  must  of  necessity  resemble  each 
other,  but  theie  are  other  matters  in  which  it  is  equally 
necessary  that  they  should  differ.  All  prophets  pro¬ 
claim  one  eternal  principle,  and  so  far  are  alike ;  but 
as  it  is  their  duty  to  apply  the  principle  to  the  special 
conditions  of  their  age,  they  must  needs  differ  as  much 
as  those  conditions  differ.  As  the  prophet  whose 
prophecy  is  new  in  substance  is  no  prophet,  but  a  de¬ 
ceiver,  so  the  prophet  whose  prophecy  is  old  in  form 
is  no  prophet,  but  a  plagiarist.  And  thus  if  the  re¬ 
vived  theocracy  of  Christ  had  been  simply  and  merely 
the  theocracy  of  Moses  or  David,  his  countrymen 
would  have  had  as  good  a  right  to  deny  his  prophetic 
mission  as  if  he  had  preached  no  theocracy  at  all. 
To  express  the  same  thing  in  the  language  of  our  own 
time,  the  destinies  of  a  nation  cannot  be  safely  trusted 
to  a  politician  who  does  not  recognize  the  difference 
between  the  present  and  the  past,  and  who  hopes  to 
restore  the  precise  institutions  under  which  the  nation 
had  prospered  centuries  before.  It  is  therefore  most 
important  to  inquire  under  what  form  Christ  proposed 
to  revive  the  theocracy. 

We  have  remarked  that  the  ancient  theocracy  had 
passed  through  two  principal  stages.  In  the  first  the 
sense  of  Jehovah’s  sovereignty  had  been  so  absorbing 
that  it  had  been  thought  impious  to  give  the  name  of 
king  to  any  human  being.  It  is  true  that  in  this  stage 
the  notion  of  a  human  representative  of  Jehovah  had 
been  familiar  to  the  nation.  In  their  dangers  and 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  GOD. 


29 


difficulties,  when  the  sighs  of  the  people  were  heard 
in  heaven,  the  hand  of  Jehovah  had  seemed  to  them 
as  mighty,  and  His  arm  as  visibly  outstretched,  when 
He  sent  rescue  through  a  legislator  or  judge  in  whom 
His  wisdom  dwelt  as  when  He  divided  the  sea  by 
immediate  power.  God’s  presence  in  men  had  been 
recognized  as  fully  as  His  presence  in  nature.  ‘When 
the  people  come  to  me  to  inquire  of  God'  is  a  phrase 
used  by  Moses.  But  it  had  been  held  impossible  to 
predict  beforehand  in  what  man  God’s  presence  would 
manifest  itself.  The  divine  inspiration  which  made  a 
man  capable  of  ruling  had  been  considered  to  resem¬ 
ble  that  which  made  a  man  a  prophet,  or  makes  in 
these  days  a  poet  or  inspired  artist.  And  it  was 
thought  that  to  give  a  man  the  title  of  a  king  for  life, 
and  to  transfer  it  regularly  to  his  descendants  without 
demanding  proofs  that  the  divine  wisdom  remained 
and  descended  with  equal  regularity,  was  equivalent 
to  depriving  Jehovah  of  His  power  of  choosing  His 
own  ministers.  , 

For  a  long  time,  therefore,  a  system  of  hero-worship 
prevailed.  Whenever  the  need  of  a  central  govern¬ 
ment  was  strongly  felt,  it  was  committed  to  the  man 
who  appeared  ablest  and  wisest.  At  length,  however, 
the  wish  of  the  people  for  a  government  that  might 
be  permanent,  that  might  hold  definite  prerogatives 
and  be  transferred  according  to  a  fixed  rule,  grew 
clamorous.  Prophecy  protested  solemnly,  but  at  last 
yielded,  and  an  hereditary  monarchy  was  founded. 
From  this  time  forward  until  the  Babylonish  captivity 
Judaja  was  under  the  government  of  Jehovah  repre¬ 
sented  by  a  king  of  the  house  of  David.  This  new 


JttCCK  HOMO. 


3° 

constitution  had  all  the  advantages  which  we  know  to 
attach  to  hereditary  monarchy.  The  nation  gained 
from  it  a  tranquillity  and  security  which  were  not 
interrupted,  as  before,  at  the  death  of  each  ruler,  and 
the  national  pride  and  patriotism  were  fostered  by  the 
splendor  and  antiquity  of  its  royal  house.  But  the 
spirit  of  prophecy,  which  had  at  first  protested  against 
the  change,  continued  to  be  somewhat  perplexed  by 
Ihe  new  institution.  The  king,  it  reasoned,  if  he  was 
not  then  a  usurper  of  Jehovah’s  right,  what  was  he  ? 
Could  the  country  have  two  kings,  and  could  loyalty 
to  the  one  be  reconciled  with  loyalty  to  the  other? 
From  this  perplexity  it  found  an  escape  by  picturing 
the  earthly  king  as  standing  in  a  peculiar  relation  to 
the  heavenly.  If  the  inspired  hero  or  legislator  of 
early  times  had  been  a  favored  servant  of  Jehovah,  the 
king  must  needs  be  more.  He  who,  not  on  some 
special  occasion  but  always,  represented  Jehovah,  he 
who  reflected  not  only  His  wisdom  or  justice  but  His 
very  majesty  and  royalty  in  the  presence  of  His  sub¬ 
jects,  the  assessor  of  Jehovah’s  throne,  the  man  that 
was  the  fellow  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  deserved  to  be 
called  not  His  servant  but  His  Son.  But  the  more 
the  dignity  of  a  Jewish  king  appeared  unutterable, 
the  more  unworthy  of  it  did  almost  every  individual 
king  appear.  The  ancient  judge  had  been  all  that  he 
professed  to  be.  His  special  endowment  might  be  of 
a  mean  order,  but  it  was  undeniable.  No  one  ques¬ 
tioned  the  stoutness  of  Samson’s  sinews.  But  the 
king,  of  whom  so  much  more  was  expected,  might 
happen  and  did  sometimes  happen  to  have  much  less. 
The  spirit  of  prophecy  consoled  itself  for  these  fail* 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  GOD. 


3* 


ures  by  painting  upon  the  future  such  a  king  as  might 
satisfy  all  the  conditions  its  enthusiasm  demanded, 
and  might  deserve  to  sit  by  Jehovah’s  right  hand  and 
judge  the  chosen  people. 

These  were  the  two  forms  which  the  ancient  the¬ 
ocracy  had  assumed.  Now  under  which  form  did 
Christ  propose  to  revive  it?  The  vision  of  universal 
monarchv  which  he  saw  in  the  desert  suggests  the 
answer.  He  conceived  the  theocracy  restored  as  it 
had  been  in  the  time  of  David,  with  a  visible  monarch 
at  its  head,  and  that  monarch  himself. 

We  are  concerned  at  present  simply  with  the  fact 
that  Christ  laid  claim  to  the  royal  title,  and  not  with 
the  question  what  special  powers  he  claimed  under 
that  title.  The  fact  itself  cannot  be  denied  without 
rejecting  all  the  evidence  before  us.  His  biographers 
regard  him  as  king  by  hereditary  right,  and  attach 
great  importance  to  the  proofs  of  his  lineal  descent 
from  David.  It  does  not  appear,  and  it  is  not  easy  to 
believe,  that  he  shared  this  feeling.  But  if  not,  it  was 
because  he  believed  his  royalty  to  rest  on  a  higher 
right.  He  could  not  derive  honor  from  David  because 
he  held  himself  far  greater  than  David.  He  was  not 
king  by  a  title  derived  from  his  ancestor,  but  by  the 
same  title  as  his  ancestor.  David  had  owed  his  sover¬ 
eignty  to  that  heroic  will  and  wisdom  in  which  the 
prophet  Samuel  had  recognized  a  divine  right  to  rule. 
The  same  title  had  Christ  in  a  yet  higher  degree,  and 
it  had  been  recognized  and  proclaimed  with  equal 
solemnity  by  the  greatest  prophetic  authority  of  the 
age.  The  prophetic  designation  which  had  fallen 
upon  him  had  perhaps  revealed  to  himself  for  the  first 


32 


ECCE  HOMO. 


time  his  own  royal  qualities,  and  the  mental  struggles 
which  followed,  if  they  had  led  him  to  a  peculiar  view 
of  the  kind  of  sovereignty  to  which  he  was  destined, 
had  left  upon  his  mind  a  most  absolute  and  serene 
conviction  of  his  royal  rights.  During  his  whole 
public  life  he  is  distinguished  from  the  other  promi¬ 
nent  characters  of  Jewish  history  by  his  unbounded 
personal  pretensions.  He  calls  himself  habitually 
king  and  master,  he  claims  expressly  the  character  of 
that  divine  Messiah  for  which  the  ancient  prophets 
had  directed  the  nation  to  look. 

So  far,  then,  it  appears  that  Christ  proposed  to 
revive  the  theocracy  in  the  form  which  it  had  worn  in 
the  age  of  David  and  Solomon.  A  hero-king  was  to 
represent  to  the  nation  their  Jehovah,  and  to  rule  in 
the  indefeasible  right  of  natural  superiority.  But  was 
the  new  monarchy  to  be  a  copy  of  the  old?  A  thou¬ 
sand  years  had  passed  since  the  age  of  David.  A 
new  world  had  come  into  being.  The  cities  through 
which  Christ  walked,  the  Jerusalem  at  which  he  kept 
the  annual  feasts,  were  filled  with  men  compared  with 
whom  the  contemporaries  of  David  might  be  called 
barbarous,  men  whose  characters  had  been  moulded 
during  many  centuries  by  law,  by  trade  and  foreign 
intercourse,  by  wealth  and  art,  by  literature  and 
prophecy.  Was  it  possible  that  the  old  heroic  mon¬ 
archy  could  be  revived  in  the  midst  of  a  complicated 
and  intellectual  civilization? 

This  difficulty  does  not  seem  to  have  occurred  to 
Christ’s  contemporaries.  The  religious  Jews  were 
looking  for  the  appearance  of  one  who  should  be 
neither  more  nor  less  than  David  had  been.  They 


t 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  GOD. 


33 


expected,  it  seems  to  see  once  more  a  warrior-king, 
judging  in  the  gate  of  Jerusalem,  or  surrounded  by  his 
mighty  men,  or  carrying  his  victorious  arms  into  the 
neighboring  countries,  or  receiving  submissive  embas¬ 
sies  from  Rome  and  Seleucia,  and  in  the  mean  time 
holding  awful  communication  with  Jehovah,  adminis¬ 
tering  His  law  and  singing  His  praise.  It  was  natural 
enough  that  such  vague  fancies  should  fill  the  minds 
of  ordinary  men.  It  was  as  impossible  for  them  to 
conceive  the  true  Christ,  to  imagine  what  he  would 
do  or  how  he  would  do  it,  as  it  was  impossible  for 
them  to  fill  his  place.  Meanwhile  the  Christ  himself, 
meditating  upon  his  mission  in  the  desert,  saw  difficul¬ 
ties  such  as  other  men  had  no  suspicion  of.  He  saw 
that  he  must  lead  a  life  altogether  different  from  that 
of  David ;  that  the  pictures  drawn  by  the  prophets  of 
an  ideal  Jewish  king  were  colored  by  the  manners  of 
the  times  in  which  they  had  lived ;  that  those  pictures 
bore  indeed  a  certain  resemblance  to  the  truth,  but 
that  the  work  before  him  was  far  more  complicated 
and  more  delicate  than  the  wisest  prophet  had  sus¬ 
pected. 

It  was  in  this  way  that  the  quarrel  began  between 
the  Jews  and  their  divine  Messiah.  Their  heads  were 
full  of  the  languid  dreams  of  commentators,  the  im¬ 
practicable  pedantries  of  men  who  live  in  the  past. 
He  was  grappling  with  the  facts  of  his  age  in  the 
strength  of  an  inspiration  to  which  no  truth  was 
hidden  and  no  enterprise  impossible.  Accordingly 
he  appeared  before  them,  as  it  were,  under  a  disguise. 
He  confounded  their  calculations,  and  professing  to 
be  the  king  they  expected,  he  did  none  of  the  things 


ECCE  HOMO.  • 


<54 

which  they  expected  the  king  to  do.  He  revived  the 
theocracy,  and  the  monarchy,  but  in  a  form  not  only 
unlike  the  system  of  David  but  utterly  new  and  unpre¬ 
cedented. 

It  is  not  uncommon  to  describe  the  Jews  as  having 
simply  made  the  mistake  of  confounding  a  figurative 
expression  with  a  literal  one.  It  is  said  that  when 
Christ  called  himself  a  king,  he  was  speaking  figura¬ 
tively,  and  that  by  4  king  ’  he  meant,  as  some  say, 
God,  as  others,  a  wise  man  and  teacher  of  morality, 
but  that  the  Jews  persisted  in  understanding  the  ex¬ 
pression  literally.  Such  interpreters  do  not  see  that 
they  attribute  to  intelligent  men  a  mistake  worthy  of 
children  or  savages.  We  do  not  find  in  history  whole 
nations  misled,  bloody  catastrophes  and  revolutions 
produced,  by  verbal  mistakes  that  could  be  explained 
in  a  moment.  Again,  they  attribute  to  Christ  conduct 
which  is  quite  unaccountable.  A  wise  man  may  at 
times  dilate  upon  the  authority  which  his  wisdom 
gives  him,  and  in  doing  so  may  compare  himself  to  a 
king,  but  if  he  saw  that  his  words  were  so  grossly 
misapprehended  that  he  was  in  danger  of  involving 
himself  and  others  in  political  difficulties,  he  would 
certainly  withdraw  or  explain  the  metaphor.  But  it 
is  evident  that  Christ  clung  firmly  to  the  title  and 
attached  great  importance  to  it.  This  appears  in  the 
most  signal  manner  on  the  occasion  of  his  last  entry 
into  Jerusalem.  He  entered  in  a  public  triumph  pie- 
ceded  by  those  who  hailed  him  as  son  of  David,  and 
when  requested  by  those  who  thought  the  populace 
guilty  of  this  very  misconception  of  mistaking  a  wise 
man  for  a  king  to  silence  their  enthusiastic  cries,  he 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  GOD. 


35 


pointedly  refused.  Again,  it  is  clear  that  this  assump¬ 
tion  of  royalty  was  the  ground  of  his  execution.  The 
inscription  which  was  put  upon  his  cross  ran,  This  is 
Jesus,  the  King  of  the  fezus.  He  had  himself  pro¬ 
voked  this  accusation  of  rebellion  against  the  Roman 
government ;  he  must  have  known  that  the  language 
he  used  would  be  interpreted  so.  Was  there  then 
nothing  substantial  in  the  royalty  he  claimed?  Did 
he  die  for  a  metaphor? 

It  will  soon  become  necessary  to  consider  at  leisure 
in  what  sense  Christ  understood  his  own  royalty.  At 
present  it  is  enough  to  remark  that,  though  he  under¬ 
stood  it  in  a  very  peculiar  sense,  and  though  he  abdi¬ 
cated  many  of  the  functions  of  a  sovereign,  he  yet 
regarded  it  as  a  royalty  not  less  substantial,  and  far 
more  dignified,  than  that  of  his  ancestor  David.  We 
may  go  one  step  farther  before  entering  into  the  details, 
and  note  the  exact  ground  of  the  quarrel  which  the 
Jews  had  with  him.  He  understood  the  work  of  the 
Messiah  in  one  sense,  and  they  in  another,  but  what 
was  the  point  of  irreconcilable  difference?  They  laid 
information  against  him  before  the  Roman  government 
as  a  dangerous  character  ;  their  real  complaint  against 
him  was  precisely  this,  that  he  was  not  dangerous. 
Pilate  executed  him  on  the  ground  that  his  ldngdom 
was  of  this  world ;  the  Jews  procured  his  execution 
precisely  because  it  was  not.  In  other  words,  they 
could  not  forgive  him  for  claiming  royalty  and  at  the 
same  time  rejecting  the  use  of  physical  force.  His 
'oyal  pretensions  were  not  in  themselves  distasteful  to 
them  ;  backed  by  a  military  force,  and  favored  by  suc¬ 
cess,  those  pretensions  would  have  been  enthusiasti- 


ECCE  HOMO. 


cally  received.  His  tranquil  life,  passed  in  teaching 
and  healing  the  sick,  could  not  in  itself  excite  their 
hatred.  An  eloquent  teacher,  gathering  disciples 
round  him  in  Jerusalem  and  offering  a  new  and  de- 
v  out  interpretation  of  the  Mosaic  law,  might  have 
aroused  a  little  spite,  but  not  the  cry  of  ‘  Crucify  him  !  * 
The}^  did  not  object  to  the  king,  they  did  noi  object  to 
the  philosopher  ;  but  they  objected  to  the  king  in  the 
garb  of  the  philosopher.  They  were  offended  at  what 
they  thought  the  degradation  of  their  great  ideal.  A 
king  who  neither  had  nor  cared  to  have  a  court  or  an 
army ;  a  king  who  could  not  enforce  a  command ;  a 
king  who  preached  and  lectured  like  a  scribe,  yet  in  his 
weakness  and  insignificance  could  not  forget  his  dig¬ 
nity,  had  his  royal  title  often  in  his  mouth,  and  lec¬ 
tured  with  an  authority  that  no  scribe  assumed  ;  these 
violent  contrasts,  this  disappointment  of  their  theories, 
this  homely  parody  of  their  hopes,  inspired  them  with 
an  irritation,  and  at  last  a  malignant  disgust,  which  it 
is  not  hard  to  understand. 

That  they  were  wrong  we  are  all  ready  to  admit. 
But  what  Christ  really  meant  to  do,  and  in  what  new 
form  he  proposed  to  revive  the  ancient  monarchy,  is 
not  so  clear  as  the  error  of  his  adversaries.  It  is  this 
which  we  proceed  to  consider. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


CHRI  ST’S  ROYALTY. 

ROM  the  perplexity  in  which  the  Jews  were  in- 


volved  by  the  contrast  between  Christ’s  royal 
pretensions  and  the  homely  tenor  of  his  life,  they 
sometimes  endeavored  to  deliver  themselves  by  apply¬ 
ing  practical  tests.  They  laid  matters  before  him  of 
which  it  might  seem  the  duty  of  a  king  to  take  cogni¬ 
zance.  By  this  means  they  discovered  that  he  con¬ 
sidered  several  of  the  ordinary  functions  of  a  king  not 
to  lie  within  his  province.  For  example,  they  showed 
him  some  of  the  tribute-money,  and  asked  him 
whether  they  ought  to  pay  it.  It  was  an  obvious,  but 
at  the  same  time  a  very  effective  way  of  sifting  his 
monarchical  claims.  In  the  times  of  David  the  Jews 
had  imposed  tribute  on  the  surrounding  nations ;  it 
was  a  thing  scarcely  conceivable  that  in  the  age  of  the 
Messiah  they  should  pay  tribute  to  the  foreigner.  If 
Christ  were  a  commissioned  and  worthy  successor  of 
the  national  hero,  it  seemed  certain  that  he  would  be 
fired  with  indignation  at  the  thought  of  so  deep  a 
national  degradation.  Strange  to  say,  he  appeared 
little  interested  in  the  question,  and  coldly  bade  them 
not  be  ashamed  to  pay  back  into  Caesar’s  treasury  the 
coins  that  came  from  Caesar’s  mint.  If  there  be  one 
function  more  than  another  which  seems  proper  to  a 


33 


ECCE  '  IOMO. 


king,  it  is  that  of  maintaining  and  asserting  the  inde- 
pendence  of  his  realm;  yet  this  function  Christ  per¬ 
emptorily  declined  to  undertake. 

The  ancient  kings  of  Judah  had  been  judges.  Ac¬ 
cordingly  the  Jews  invited  Christ  more  than  once  to 
undertake  the  office  of  a  judge.  We  read  of  a  civil 
action  concerning  an  inheritance  which  was  submitted 
to  him,  and  of  a  criminal  case  of  adultery  in  which  he 
was  asked  to  pronounce  judgment.  In  both  cases  he 
declined  the  office,  and  in  one  of  them  with  an  express 
declaration  that  he  had  received  no  commission  to 
exercise  judicial  functions. 

The  ancient  kings  ot  Judah  had  commanded  the 
armies  of  the  nation.  It  has  been  already  remarked 
that  Christ  refrained  in  the  most  decided  manner  from 
undertaking  this  function.  He  expressly  told  Pilate 
that  his  kingdom  was  one  the  members  of  which  did 
not  fight,  and,  consistently  with  this  principle,  he  for¬ 
bade  his  follower  Peter  to  take  up  arms  even  in  order 
to  save  him  from  arrest. 

What  functions  then  did  Christ  undertake?  We 
feel  baffled  at  the  beginning  of  our  investigation,  and 
can  enter  into  the  perplexity  of  the  Jews,  for  those 
which  we  have  enumerated  are  the  principal  functions 
of  the  ancient  monarchy.  All  of  them  Christ  declined, 
and  yet  continued  to  speak  of  himself  as  king,  and  that 
with  such  consistency  and  clearness  that  those  who 
were  nearest  to  his  person  understood  him  most  liter¬ 
ally,  and  quarrelled  for  places  and  dignities  under 
him.  Our  perplexity  arises  from  this :  that  whereas 
Christ  announced  the  restoration  of  the  Davidic  mon¬ 
archy,  and  presented  himself  to  the  nation  as  theii 


CHRIST’S  ROYALTY. 


39 


king,  yet,  when  we  compare  the  position  he  assumed 
with  that  of  an  ancient  Jewish  king,  we  fail  to  find  any 
point  of  resemblance. 

But  the  truth  is,  as  it  appears  after  a  little  considera¬ 
tion,  that  in  this  rough  comparison  we  have  not  suffi¬ 
ciently  remembered  the  very  peculiar  view  taken  by  the 
Jews  —  perhaps  originally  by  other  ancient  nations  — 
of  royalty.  It  is  possible,  though  it  cannot  be  proved, 
that  other  nations,  such  as  the  Greeks,  gave  the  name 
of  king,  in  the  first  instance,  to  the  god  of  the  particu¬ 
lar  tribe,  and  afterwards  transferred  it  to  the  human 
being  who  was  supposed  to  be  sprung  from  him,  or 
beloved  and  inspired  by  him.  But  that  among  the 
Jews  the  notion  of  royalty  was  derived  from  that  of 
divinity,  seems  clear.  Human  kings  were  appointed 
late  in  Palestine,  but  from  a  much  earlier  time  the 
twelve  tribes  had  lived  under  a  monarchy.  Their 
national  Divinity  had  been  their  king.  He  had  been 
believed  to  march  at  the  head  of  their  armies  and  to 
bestow  victory,  to  punish  wrong-doing  and  to  heal 
differences  when  the  tribes  were  at  peace.  The  hu¬ 
man  king  who  was  afterwards  appointed  was  king  but 
in  a  secondary  sense,  as  the  deputy  of  the  Invisible 
King,  and  the  inspired  depositary  of  His  will.  Now 
it  is  important  to  remark  that  the  human  king  repre¬ 
sented  the  Divine  King  in  certain  matters  only,  and 
not  in  others.  In  the  habitual  acts  of  administration 
the  king  officiated,  but  there  were  some  acts  which 
Jehovah  had  done  for  the  nation  once  for  all,  in  w  hich, 
as  they  were  not  to  be  repeated,  none  of  the  house  of 
David  could  represent  Him.  Yet  these  acts  were  far 
greater  than  those  which  were  regularly  repeated,  and 


4o 


ECCE  HOMO. 


displayed  much  more  magnificently  the  royalty  of 
Jehovah. 

These  acts  were  two  —  the  calling  of  the  nation,  and 
the  institution  of  its  laws. 

It  was  believed,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  nation 
owed  its  separate  existence  to  Jehovah’s  election  of 
Abraham.  The  origin  of  other  nations  is  lost  in 
antiquity,  but  we  can  still  trace  the  movements  of  the 
primitive  shepherd  who  separated  himself  from  his 
Chaldasan  countrymen  in  obedience  to  an  irresistible 
divine  impulse,  and  lived  a  wandering  life  among  his 
flocks  and  herds,  ennobled  by  his  unborn  descendants 
as  other  men  are  by  their  dead  ancestors,  rich,  as  it 
were,  by  a  reversed  inheritance  from  the  ages  after 
him,  and  actually  bearing  in  his  body  Moses  and 
David  and  vJhrist.  His  life  was  passed  in  mysteri¬ 
ous  communion  with  the  Sovereign  Will  which  had 
isolated  him  in  the  present  and  given  him  for  compen¬ 
sation  a  home  in  the  future. 

This  then  was  the  first  work  which  the  Invisible 
King  did  for  his  subjects.  He  created  the  nation  over 
which  He  was  to  reign.  And  the  Jews  in  after  times 
loved  to  speak  of  Him  as  the  God  of  Abraham, 
Isaac,  and  Jacob,  the  God,  that  is,  who  had  watched 
over  the  growth  of  a  family  into  a  nation,  who 
had  sealed  that  family  for  Himself  and  chosen  the 
nation. 

But  this  had  been  done  once  for  all.  The  king  of 
the  house  of  David  might  represent  to  the  people 
their  Invisible  King  at  the  head  of  an  army  or  on  the 
judgment  seat,  but  he  could  not  represent  to  them  the 
Founder  of  their  commonwealth,  the  God  who  had 


Christ's  royalty.  41 

been,  as  it  were,  their  dwelling-place  in  all  genera¬ 
tions. 

The  covenant  between  Abraham  and  his  invisible 
Guide  had  been  simple.  No  condition  but  isolation 
and  the  sign  of  it,  circumcision,  had  been  imposed 
upon  the  first  Hebrew ;  he  received  and  obeyed 
occasional  monitions,  and  he  was  blessed  with  a  con« 
tinually  increasing  prosperity.  But  the  family  grew 
into  a  nation,  and  then  the  covenant  was  enlarged. 
He  who  had  called  the  nation  now  did  for  it  the 
second  work  of  a  king  and  gave  it  a  law.  No  longer 
special  commands  imposed  on  special  persons,  but 
general  laws  binding  on  every  Israelite  at  all  times 
alike,  laws  regulating  the  behavior  of  every  Israelite 
towards  his  brother  Israelite  and  towards  the  Invisible 
King,  laws  which  turned  a  wandering  tribe  of  the 
desert  into  a  nation  worthy  of  the  settled  seat,  the 
mountain  fastness  girdled  with  plain  and  cornfield  and 
protected  by  Jordan  and  the  sea,  with  which  at  the 
same  time  their  Patron  endowed  them.  In  this  work 
of  legislation  He  was  represented  by  Moses,  of  whom 
it  therefore  is  written  that  1  he  was  king  in  Jeshurun/ 
This  too  was  a  work  done  once  for  all.  No  king  of 
the  house  of  David  ever  represented  the  Invisible  King 
in  His  capacity  of  legislator.  To  study  the  divine  law 
diligently  and  administer  it  faithfully  was  the  highest 
praise  to  which  a  David  or  Hezekiah  could  aspire. 

Thus  the  kings  of  the  house  of  David  were  repre- 
sentatives  of  the  Invisible  King  in  certain  matters  only. 
The  greatest  works  which  can  be  done  for  a  nation 
by  its  shepherd  were  quite  beyond  their  scope  and 
province. 


42 


ECCE  HOMO. 


We  may  now  perceive  hov/  Christ  might  abdicate 
all  the  functions  they  had  undertaken,  and  yet  remain 
a  king  in  a  much  higher  sense  than  they,  and  in  what 
respect  the  conception  of  the  Messiah  formed  by  the 
Jews  of  Christ’s  time  might  differ  from  that  which 
Christ  Himself  formed  of  him.  It  was  the  fatal  mis¬ 
take  of  the  most  influential  body  in  the  nation,  that 
mixed  body  which  is  called  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees, 
to  regard  the  Mosaic  law  as  final  and  unalterable. 
They  fell  into  the  besetting  sin  of  lawyers  in  all  ages. 
Assuming  therefore  that  nothing  remained  for  the 
Messiah  to  do  in  legislation,  they  were  driven  to  sup¬ 
pose  that  he  too,  like  the  ancient  kings,  would  be  but 
an  imperfect  representative  of  the  Supreme  King. 
And  so  they  were  driven  to  conceive  him  as  occupied 
with  administration  or  conquest,  and,  had  their  dream 
been  realized,  the  Christ  would  have  appeared  in 
history  far  inferior  to  Moses. 

On  the  other  hand,  Christ  fixed  his  thoughts  solely 
on  the  greater  and  more  fundamental  works  of  an 
heroic  royalty.  He  respected  the  Mosaic  legislation 
not  less  than  his  contemporaries,  but  he  deliberately 
proposed  to  himself  to  supersede  it  by  a  new  one  pro¬ 
mulgated  on  his  own  authority.  He  undertook  the 
part  rather  of  a  second  Moses  than  of  a  second  David, 
and  though  he  declined  to  take  cognizance  of  special 
legal  cases  that  were  submitted  to  him,  we  never  find 
him  refusing  to  deliver  judgment  upon  a  general  point 
of  law.  But  he  went  still  deeper,  and  undertook  a 
work  yet  more  radical  than  that  of  Moses.  Not  only 
did  he  boldly  announce  that  the  work  done  on  Sinai 
was  to  be  done  over  again  by  himself,  but  even  the 


Christ’s  royalty. 


43 

earlier  and  primary  work  of  the  Invisible  King  done 
in  Ur  of  the  Chaldees,  the  Call  which  had  brought  the 
nation  into  existence,  he  declared  himself  commis¬ 
sioned  to  repeat.  In  that  proclamation,  4  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  is  at  hand,’  we  have  hitherto  seen  only  a 
restoration  of  the  ancient  theocracy,  but  a  closer  con¬ 
sideration  will  show  us  that  the  restoration  was  no 
mere  resumption  of  the  old  system  at  the  point  at 
which  it  had  been  left  off  and  in  the  original  form, 
but  a  recommencement  of  the  whole  history  from  the 
beginning ;  not  a  revival  of  the  old  covenant  but  a 
new  covenant,  a  new  election,  a  new  legislation,  a 
new  community.  In  the  early  time  there  came  a  voice 
to  Abraham  which  said,  4  Get  thee  out  of  thy  kindred, 
and  from  thy  country,  and  from  thy  father’s  house, 
into  the  land  of  which  I  shall  tell  thee :  and  I  will 
make  of  thee  a  great  nation,  and  in  thee  shall  all 
families  of  the  earth  be  blessed.’  And  now  there 
was  heard  throughout  Palestine  a  voice  proclaiming, 
4  There  is  no  man  that  hath  given  up  father,  or  mother, 
or  house,  or  children,  or  lands,  for  my  sake  and  the 
gospel’s,  but  he  shall  receive  an  hundredfold  more  in 
this  present  life,  and  in  the  world  to  come  life  ever¬ 
lasting.’  The  two  calls  resemble  each  other  in  sound  ; 
in  substance  and  meaning  they  are  exactly  parallel. 
The  object  of  both  was  to  create  a  new  society  which 
should  stand  in  a  peculiar  relation  to  God,  and  which 
should  have  a  legislation  different  from  and  higher 
than  that  which  springs  up  in  secular  states.  And 
from  both  such  a  society  sprang,  from  the  first  the 
ancient  Jewish  theocracy,  from  the  second  the  Chris* 
tian  Church. 


44 


ECCE  HOMO. 


It  is  not  now  so  hard  to  understand  Christ’s  royal 
pretensions.  He  declined,  it  is  true,  to  command 
armies,  or  preside  in  law  courts,  but  higher  works, 
such  as  imply  equal  control  over  the  wills  of  men,  the 
very  works  for  which  the  nation  chiefly  hymned  their 
Jehovah,  he  undertook  in  His  name  to  do.  He  under* 
took  to  be  the  Father  of  an  everlasting  state,  and  the 
Legislator  of  a  world-wide  society. 

But  this  is  not  yet  all.  Christ  was  more  than  a  new 
Moses  and  a  new  Abraham.  For  completeness  we 
must  here  touch  on  a  mysterious  subject,  of  which  the 
full  discussion  must  be  reserved  for  another  place. 
Since  the  time  of  the  Mosaic  legislation  a  revolution 
had  happened  in  the  minds  of  men,  which,  though  it 
is  little  considered  because  it  happened  gradually,  is 
surely  the  greatest  which  the  human  mind  has  ever 
experienced.  Man  had  in  the  interval  come  to  con¬ 
sider  or  suspect  himself  to  be  im?7iortal .  It  is  sur¬ 
prising  that  the  early  Jews,  in  whom  the  sense  of  God 
was  so  strong,  and  who  were  familiar  with  the  con¬ 
ception  of  an  Eternal  Being,  should  yet  have  been 
oehind  rather  than  before  other  nations  in  suspecting 
he  immortality  of  the  soul.  The  Greek  did  not  even 
n  the  earliest  times  believe  death  to  be  annihilation, 
though  he  thought  it  was  fatal  to  all  joy  and  vigor ; 
but  the  early  Jews,  the  Legislator  himself,  and  most 
of  the  Psalmists,  limit  their  hopes  and  fears  to  the 
present  life,  and  compare  m^n  to  the  beasts  that  perish. 
I  low  strange  a  revolution  A  thought  when  the  area 
of  human  hopes  and  fortunes  suddenly  extended  itself 
without  limit !  Then  first  man  must  have  felt  himself 
great.  Then  first  too  human  relations  gained  a  solid 


CHRIST'S  ROYALTY. 


45 


ity  and  permanence  which  they  had  never  before 
seemed  to  have  ;  then  the  great  and  wise  of  a  remote 
past  started  into  life  again ;  then  the  remote  future 
moved  nearer  and  became  vivid  like  the  present. 
This  revolution  had  in  a  great  measure  taken  place 
before  the  time  of  Christ.  The  suspicion  of  immor¬ 
tality  appears  in  the  later  prophets,  that  suspicion 
which  Christ  himself  was  to  develop  into  a  glorious 
confidence. 

This  extension  of  the  term  of  human  life  had  a  pro¬ 
digious  effect  upon  morality.  We  have  spoken  of 
Jehovah  as  legislating  for  the  Jews.  But  a  law  is 
nothing  unless  it  is  enforced.  Now  in  what  way  did 
Jehovah  enforce  the  law  He  had  given?  In  the  first 
place  by  commissioned  judges  appointed  from  the 
people  and  inspired  by  Him  with  the  necessary  wis¬ 
dom.  But  many  crimes  pass  undetected  by  the 
judge,  or  his  wisdom  fails  him  and  the  wrong  person 
is  punished,  or  he  takes  a  bribe  and  perverts  justice. 
In  these  cases,  then,  what  did  Jehovah  do?  How  did 
He  enforce  His  law?  Did  He  suffer  the  guilty  man 
to  escape,  or  had  He  other  ministers  of  justice  beside 
the  judge  and  the  king  ?  It  was  supposed  that  in  such 
cases  He  called  in  the  powers  of  nature  against  the 
transgressor,  destroyed  his  vines  with  hailstones  and 
his  mulberry-trees  with  the  frost,  or  abandoned  his 
fiocks  and  herds  to  the  Bedouins  of  the  desert.  But 
this  theory  was  found  to  be  unsatisfactory.  Life  is  a 
short  term.  The  transgressor  has  but  to  tide  over  a 
few  years,  and  he  is  in  the  haven  beside  the  just  man, 
where  the  God  of  the  living  cannot  touch  him.  And 
the  Jew,  watching  the  ways  of  Jehovah,  could  not  but 


46 


ECCE  HOMO. 


observe  that  this  often  happened.  He  was  troubled  to 
see  over  and  over  again  prosperous  villany  carried  to 
an  honored  grave  in  the  fulness  of  years  and  the 
satiety  of  enjoyment.  Another  conjecture  was  haz¬ 
arded.  It  was  said  the  bad  man  prospers  sometimes, 
but  he  has  no  children,  or  at  least  his  house  soon  dies 
out.  Among  Jews  and  Gentiles  alike  this  theory 
found  favor  for  a  time — - 

otidi  t C  fuv  Tialdeg  noxl  yotivaui  Trannd^ovtnv 

eWovt'  ex  no^e/noio  xal  uivr\g  drfiOTfjiog.2 

But  again  facts  were  too  stubborn  to  be  resisted,  and 
the  Psalmist  is  obliged  to  admit  that  here  too  the 
wicked  prosper  —  ‘  They  have  children  at  their  desire, 
and  leave  the  rest  of  their  substance  to  their  babes/ 

In  these  circumstances  morality  must  have  pre¬ 
served  but  a  precarious  existence.  Good  and  evil 
were  almost  on  equal  terms.  The  good  man  had 
sacrifices  to  make  and  trials  to  undergo,  but  little  re¬ 
ward  to  expect.  The  bad  man  had  the  obvious  gains 
of  his  villany,  without  any  very  serious  danger  of 
punishment.  In  these  circumstances,  also,  the  King- 
ship  of  Jehovah  Himself  must  have  wanted  majesty. 
Profoundly  as  some  Jews  felt  His  greatness,  the  com¬ 
mon  feeling  towards  Him  must  have  been  one  of  far 
less  awe  than  that  which  we  feel  for  the  Almighty 
God.  For  He  seemed  to  have  little  power  either  to 
help  His  friends  or  punish  His  enemies.  Human  life 
being  essentially  short,  He  could  but  lengthen  or 
shorten  it  a  little.  And  the  little  power  He  had  He 
seemed  not  to  use. 

The  Jehovah,  therefore,  whom  Christ  came  to 


Christ's  royalty. 


47 


represent,  at  a  time  when  the  immortality  of  the  soul 
was  a  doctrine  extensively  received  or  favored,  was 
practically  a  much  more  powerful  and  awful  King 
than  He  who  had  spoken  by  Moses,  and  His  relation 
to  His  subjects  was  far  more  intimate.  In  the  earlier 
time  He  had  enforced  His  law  mainly  through  Lhe 
civil  magistrate ;  His  other  judgments  were  excep¬ 
tional  and  rare.  But  now  the  office  of  the  civil 
magistrate  retreated  into  the  background,  and  Jeho¬ 
vah  was  conceived  rather  as  holding  His  assize  in  that 
mysterious  region  which  had  recently  become  visible 
to  men  on  the  other  side  of  death,  as  a  distant  land 
becomes  visible  on  the  other  side  of  a  river  or  strait, 
—  the  region  which  a  Jew  might  compare  to  the  Holy 
Land  itself,  the  residence  of  Jehovah,  parted  from  the 
desert  and  the  unconsecrated  earth  by  the  stream  of 
Jordan. 

When  Christ,  therefore,  declined  the  office  of  civil 
judge,  it  does  not  follow  that  he  declined  all  judicial 
functions.  Of  the  judgments  of  Jehovah  we  see  that 
those  pronounced  by  the  magistrate  formed  now  but  a 
small  part.  And  in  declining  these  he  took  all  the 
others,  the  diviner  judgments,  into  his  own  hand. 
We  cannot  here  delay  upon  this  subject,  but  the  fact 
appears  upon  the  surface  of  our  biographies  that 
Christ,  however  carefully  abstaining  from  the  function 
of  the  civil  magistrate,  was  yet  continually  engaged  in 
passing  judgment  upon  men.  Some  he  assured  of  the 
forgiveness  of  their  sins,  upon  others  he  pronounced  a 
severe  sentence.  But  in  all  cases  he  did  so  in  a  style 
which  plainly  showed,  so  as  sometimes  to  startle  by 
its  boldness  those  who  heard,  that  he  considered  the 


4S 


ECCE  HOMO. 


ultimate  and  highest  decision  upon  men’s  deeds,  that 
decision  to  which  all  the  unjustly  condemned  at  hu¬ 
man  tribunals  appeal,  and  which  weighs  not  the  deed 
only,  but  motives,  and  temptations,  and  ignorances, 
and  all  the  complex  conditions  of  the  deed  —  that  he 
considered,  in  short,  heaven  and  hell  to  be  in  his 
hand. 

We  conclude,  then,  that  Christ  in  describing  him¬ 
self  as  a  king,  and  at  the  same  time  as  king  of  the 
Kingdom  of  God  —  in  other  words,  as  a  king  repre¬ 
senting  the  Majesty  of  the  Invisible  King  of  a 
theocracy  —  claimed  the  character  first  of  Founder, 
next  of  Legislator,  thirdly,  in  a  certain  high  and 
peculiar  sense,  of  Judge,  of  a  new  divine  society. 


49 


CHAPTER  V. 

Christ’s  credentials 

IN  defining  as  above  the  position  which  Christ  as¬ 
sumed,  we  have  not  entered  into  controvertible 
matter.  We  have  not  rested  upon  single  passages, 
nor  drawn  upon  the  fourth  Gospel.  To  deny  that 
Christ  did  undertake  to  found  and  to  legislate  for  a 
new  theocratic  society,  and  that  he  did  claim  the  office 
of  Judge  of  mankind,  is  indeed  possible,  but  only  to 
those  who  altogether  deny  the  credibility  of  the  extant 
biographies  of  Christ.  If  those  biographies  be  admit¬ 
ted  to  be  generally  trustworthy,  then  Christ  undertook 
to  be  what  we  have  described  ;  if  not,  then  of  course 
this,  but  also  every  other,  account  of  him  falls  to  the 
ground. 

When  we  contemplate  this  scheme  as  a  whole,  and 
glance  at  the  execution  and  results  of  it,  three  things 
strike  us  with  astonishment.  First,  its  prodigious 
originality,  if  the  expression  may  be  used.  What 
other  man  has  had  the  courage  or  elevation  of  mind  to 
say,  4 1  will  build  up  a  state  by  the  mere  force  of  my 
will,  without  help  from  the  kings  of  the  world,  with¬ 
out  taking  advantage  of  any  of  the  secondary  causes 
which  unite  men  together  —  unity  of  interest  or 
speech,  or  blood-relationship.  I  will  make  laws  for 
my  state  which  shall  never  be  repealed,  and  l  will 

3 


50 


ECCE  HOMO. 


defy  all  the  powers  of  destruction  that  are  at  work  in 
the  world  to  destroy  what  I  build  ’  ? 

Secondly,  we  are  astonished  at  the  calm  confidence 
with  which  the  scheme  was  carried  out.  The  reason 
why  statesmen  can  seldom  work  on  this  vast  scale  is 
that  it  commonly  requires  a  whole  lifetime  to  gain 
that  ascendency  over  their  fellow-men  which  such 
schemes  presuppose.  Some  of  the  leading  organi¬ 
zers  of  the  world  have  said,  4 1  will  work  my  way  to 
supreme  power,  and  then  I  will  execute  great  plans.’ 
But  Christ  overleaped  the  first  stage  altogether.  He 
did  not  work  his  way  to  royalty,  but  simply  said  to  all 
men,  1 1  am  your  king.’  He  did  not  struggle  forward 
to  a  position  in  which  he  could  found  a  new  state,  but 
simply  founded  it. 

Thirdly,  we  are  astonished  at  the  prodigious  success 
of  the  scheme.  It  is  not  more  certain  that  Christ  pre¬ 
sented  himself  to  men  as  the  founder,  legislator,  and 
judge  of  a  divine  society  than  it  is  certain  that  men 
have  accepted  him  in  these  characters,  that  the  divine 
society  has  been  founded,  that  it  has  lasted  nearly  two 
thousand  years,  that  it  has  extended  over  a  large  and 
the  most  highly  civilized  portion  of  the  earth’s  surface, 
and  that  it  continues  full  of  vigor  at  the  present  day. 

Between  the  astonishing  design  and  its  astonishing 
success  there  intervenes  an  astonishing  instrumentalily 
—  that  of  miracles.  It  will  be  thought  by  some  that 
in  asserting  miracles  to  have  been  actually  wrought  by 
Christ  we  go  beyond  what  the  evidence,  perhaps  be¬ 
yond  what  any  possible  evidence,  is  able  to  sustain. 
Waiving  then  for  the  present  the  question  whether 
miracles  were  actually  wrought,  we  may  state  a  fact 


CHRIST’S  credentials. 


5 1 


which  is  fully  capable  of  being  established  by  ordinal*) 
evidence,  and  which  is  actually  established  by  evidence 
as  ample  as  any  historical  fact  whatever  —  the  fact, 
namely,  that  Christ  professed  to  work  miracles.  We 
may  go  further,  and  assert  with  confidence  that  Christ 
was  believed  by  his  followers  really  to  work  miracles, 
and  that  it  was  mainly  on  this  account  that  they  con¬ 
ceded  to  him  the  preeminent  dignity  and  authority 
which  he  claimed.  The  accounts  we  have  of  these 
miracles  may  be  exaggerated ;  it  is  possible  that  in 
some  special  cases  stories  have  been  related  which 
have  no  foundation  whatever ;  but,  on  the  whole, 
miracles  play  so  important  a  part  in  Christ’s  scheme 
that  any  theory  which  would  represent  them  as  due 
entirely  to  the  imagination  of  his  followers  or  of  a 
later  age  destroys  the  credibility  of  the  documents  not 
partially  but  wholly,  and  leaves  Christ  a  personage  as 
mythical  as  Hercules.  Now  the  present  treatise  aims 
to  show  that  the  Christ  of  the  Gospels  is  not  mythical, 
by  showing  that  the  character  those  biographies  por¬ 
tray  is  in  all  its  large  features  strikingly  consistent,  and 
at  the  same  time  so  peculiar  as  to  be  altogether  be¬ 
yond  the  reach  of  invention  both  by  individual  genius 
and  still  more  by  what  is  called  the  4  consciousness  of 
an  age.’  Now  if  the  character  depicted  in  the  Gos¬ 
pels  is  in  the  main  real  and  historical,  they  must  be 
generally  trustworthy,  and,  if  so,  the  responsibility  of 
miracles  is  fixed  on  Christ.  In  this  case  the  reality  of 
the  miracles  themselves  depends  in  a  great  degree  on 
the  opinion  we  form  of  Christ’s  veracity,  and  this 
opinion  must  aiise  gradually  from  the  careful  exami¬ 
nation  of  Ids  whole  life.  For  oui  present  purpose, 


52 


ECCE  HOMO. 


which  is  to  investigate  the  plan  which  Christ  formed 
and  the  way  in  which  he  executed  it,  it  matters  noth¬ 
ing  whether  the  miracles  were  real  or  imaginary ;  in 
either  case,  being  believed  to  be  real,  they  had  the 
Sflmc  effect.  Provisionally  therefore  we  may  speak  of 
them  as  real. 

Assuming  then  that  Christ  performed  genuine  mira¬ 
cles,  we  have  before  us  the  explanation  of  the  ascend¬ 
ency  which  he  was  able  to  exert.  Yet  it  is  important 
to  consider  in  what  precise  manner  men  were  affected 
by  this  supernatural  power.  By  itself,  supernatural 
power  would  not  have  procured  for  Christ  the  kind 
of  ascendency  he  wanted,  but  exactly  that  ascendency 
which  he  so  decidedly  rejected.  We  have  seen  him  in 
the  wilderness,  as  it  appeared,  declining  an  empire 
founded  on  compulsion  ;  and,  if  this  be  conjectural,  at 
least  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  was  by  declining  to  use 
compulsion  that  he  offended  his  countrymen.  Nor 
can  we  have  any  doubt  that,  his  object  being  what  we 
have  ascertained  it  to  be,  he  was  right  in  resting  as 
little  as  possible  upon  force.  A  leader  of  armies,  a 
tyrant,  may  want  physical  force  and  may  desire  the 
means  of  crushing  opposition  ;  but  a  wise  legislator 
would  desire  that  the  citizens  should  receive  his  laws 
rather  because  they  felt  the  value  of  them  than  from 
terror ;  and  a  judge,  such  as  Christ  professed  to  be, 
would  prefer  to  influence  the  conscience  and  arouse 
the  sense  of  shame  rather  than  to  work  upon  the  fear 
of  punishment.  Supernatural  power  was  not  invaria¬ 
bly  connected  in  the  minus  of  the  ancients  with  God 
and  goodness;  it  was  supposed  to  be  in  the  gift  of 
evil  spirits  as  well  as  good  ;  it  was  regarded  with  hor- 


Christ’s  credentials. 


53 


ror  in  as  many  cases  as  with  reverence.  And,  indeed, 
when  wielded  by  Christ,  the  first  impression  which  it 
produced  upon  those  who  witnessed  it  was  one  of 
alarm  and  distress.  Men  were  not  so  much  disposed 
to  admire  or  adore  as  to  escape  precipitately  from  the 
presence  of  one  so  formidable.  The  Gadarenes  prayed 
Christ  to  depart  out  of  their  coasts.  Even  Peter  made 
the  same  petition,  and  that  at  a  time  when  he  knew 
too  much  of  his  Master  utterly  to  misapprehend  his 
character  and  purpose. 

It  appears,  then,  that  these  supernatural  powers 
freely  used  were  calculated  to  hinder  Christ’s  plan 
almost  as  much  as  to  further  it.  The  sense  of  being 
in  the  hands  of  a  Divine  Teacher  is  in  itself  elevating 
and  beneficial,  but  the  close  proximity  of  an  over¬ 
whelming  force  crushes  freedom  and  reason.  Had 
Christ  used  supernatural  power  without  restraint,  as 
his  countrymen  seemed  to  expect  of  him  and  as  an¬ 
cient  prophecy  seemed  to  justify  them  in  expecting, 
when  it  spoke  of  the  Messiah  ruling  the  nations  with 
a  rod  of  iron  and  breaking  them  in  pieces  like  a  pot¬ 
ter’s  vessel,  we  cannot  imagine  that  any  redemption 
would  have  been  wrought  for  man.  The  powei 
would  have  neutralized  instead  of  seconding  the  wis¬ 
dom  and  goodness  which  wielded  it.  So  long  as  it 
was  present  it  would  have  fettered  and  frozen  the  fac 
ulties  of  those  on  whom  it  worked,  so  that  the  legis¬ 
lation  which  it  was  used  to  introduce  would  have  been 
placed  on  the  same  footing  as  the  commands  of  a  ty* 
rant,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  as  soon  as  it  was  re¬ 
moved,  the  legislation  and  it  would  have  passed  into 
oblivion  together. 


54 


fiCCE  HOMO. 


We  have  anticipated  in  a  former  chapter  the  means 
by  which  Christ  avoided  this  result.  He  imposed 
upon  himself  a  strict  restraint  in  the  use  of  his  super¬ 
natural  powers.  He  adopted  the  principle  that  he 
was  not  sent  to  destroy  men’s  lives  but  to  save  them, 
and  rigidly  abstained  in  practice  from  inflicting  any 
kind  of  damage  or  harm.  In  this  course  he  perse¬ 
vered  so  steadily  that  it  became  generally  understood. 
Every  one  knew  that  this  king ,  whose  royal  preten¬ 
sions  were  so  prominent,  had  an  absolutely  unlimited 
patience,  and  that  he  would  endure  the  keenest  criti¬ 
cism,  the  bitterest  and  most  malignant  personal  at¬ 
tacks.  Men’s  mouths  were  opened  to  discuss  his 
claims  and  character  with  entire  freedom  ;  so  far  from 
regarding  him  with  that  excessive  fear  which  might 
have  prevented  them  from  receiving  his  doctrine  intel¬ 
ligently,  they  learnt  gradually  to  treat  him,  even  while 
they  acknowledged  his  extraordinary  power,  with  a 
reckless  animosity  which  they  would  have  been  afraid 
to  show  towards  an  ordinary  enemy.  With  curious 
inconsistency  they  openly  charged  him  with  being 
leagued  with  the  devil ;  in  other  words,  they  acknowl¬ 
edged  that  he  was  capable  of  boundless  mischief,  and 
yet  they  were  so  little  afraid  of  him  that  they  were 
ready  to  provoke  him  to  use  his  whole  power  against 
themselves.  The  truth  was,  that  they  believed  him  to 
be  disarmed  by  his  own  deliberate  resolution,  and  they 
judged  rightly.  He  punished  their  malice  only  by 
verbal  reproofs,  and  they  gradually  gathered  courage 
to  attack  the  life  of  one  whose  miraculous  powers 
they  did  not  question. 

Meantime,  while  this  magnanimous  self-restraint 


55 


CHRIST’S  CREDENTIALS. 

\ 

saved  him  from  false  friends  and  mercenary  or  servile 
flatterers,  and  saved  the  kingdom  he  founded  from  the 
corruption  of  self-interest  and  worldhness,  it  gave  him 
a  power  over  the  good  such  as  nothing  else  could  have 
given.  For  the  noblest  and  most  amiable  thing  that 
can  be  seen  is  power  mixed  with  gentleness,  the  re¬ 
posing,  self-restraining  attitude  of  strength.  These 
are  4  the  fine  strains  of  honor,’  these  are  4  the  graces 
of  the  gods  ’  — 

To  tear  with  thunder  the  wide  cheeks  o’  the  air, 

And  yet  to  charge  the  sulphur  with  a  bolt 
That  shall  but  rive  an  oak. 

And  while  he  did  no  mischief  under  any  provocation, 
his  power  flowed  in  acts  of  beneficence  on  every  side. 
Men  could  approach  near  to  him,  could  eat  and  drink 
with  him,  could  listen  to  his  talk,  and  ask  him  ques¬ 
tions,  and  they  found  him  not  accessible  only,  but 
warm-hearted,  and  not  occupied  so  much  with  his 
own  plans  that  he  could  not  attend  to  a  case  of  dis¬ 
tress  or  mental  perplexity.  They  found  him  full  of 
sympathy  and  appreciation,  dropping  words  of  praise, 
ejaculations  of  admiration,  tears.  He  surrounded 
himself  with  those  who  had  tasted  of  his  bounty,  sick 
people  whom  he  had  cured,  lepers  whose  death-in-life, 
demoniacs  whose  liell-in-life,  he  had  terminated  with  a 
single  powerful  word.  Among  these  came  loving 
hearts  who  thanked  him  for  friends  and  relatives  res¬ 
cued  for  them  out  of  the  jaws  of  premature  death,  and 
others  whom  he  had  saved,  by  a  power  which  did  not 
seem  different,  from  vice  and  degradation. 

This  temperance  in  the  use  of  supernatural  power 
is  the  masterpiece  of  Christ.  It  is  a  moral  miracle 


56 


EC'CE  HOMO. 


superinduced  upon  a  physical  one.  This  repose  in 
greatness  makes  him  surely  the  most  sublime  image 
ever  offered  to  the  human  imagination.  And  it  is  pre¬ 
cisely  this  trait  which  gave  him  his  immense  and  im¬ 
mediate  ascendency  over  men.  If  the  question  be  put 
—  Why  was  Christ  so  successful?  Why  did  men 
gather  round  him  at  his  call,  form  themselves  into  a 
new  society  according  to  his  wish,  and  accept  him 
with  unbounded  devotion  as  their  legislator  and  judge? 
some  will  answer,  4  Because  of  the  miracles  which 
attested  his  divine  character ;  ’  others,  4  Because  of 
the  intrinsic  beauty  and  divinity  of  the  great  law  of 
love  which  he  propounded.’  But  miracles,  as  we 
have  seen,  have  not  by  themselves  this  persuasive 
power.  That  a  man  possesses  a  strange  power  which 
I  cannot  understand  is  no  reason  why  I  should  receive 
his  words  as  divine  oracles  of  truth.  The  powerful 
man  is  not  of  necessity  also  wise ;  his  power  may 
terrify,  and  yet  not  convince.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
law  of  love,  however  divine,  was  but  a  precept.  Un¬ 
doubtedly  it  deserved  that  men  should  accept  it  for  its 
intrinsic  worth,  but  men  are  not  commonly  so  eager 
to  receive  the  words  of  wise  men  nor  so  unbounded 
in  their  gratitude  to  them.  It  was  neither  for  his  mir¬ 
acles  nor  for  the  beauty  of  his  doctrine  that  Christ  was 
worshipped.  Nor  was  it  for  his  winning  personal 
character,  nor  for  the  persecutions  he  endured,  nor  for 
his  martyrdom.  It  was  for  the  inimitable  unity  which 
all  these  things  made  when  taken  together.  In  other 
words,  it  was  for  this,  that  he  whose  power  and  great¬ 
ness  as  shown  in  his  miracles  were  overwhelming 
denied  himself  the  use  of  his  power,  treated  it  as  a 


Christ's  credentials. 


57 


slight  thing,  walked  among  men  as  though  he  were 
one  of  them,  relieved  them  in  distress,  taught  them  to 
love  each  other,  bore  with  undisturbed  patience  a  pe:  * 
petual  hailstorm  of  calumny ;  and  when  his  enemies 
grew  fiercer,  continued  still  to  endure  their  attacks 
in  silence,  until  petrified  and  bewildered  with  astonish- 
ment,  men  saw  him  arrested  and  put  to  death  with 
torture,  refusing  steadfastly  to  use  in  his  own  behalf 
the  power  he  conceived  he  held  for  the  benefit  of 
others.  It  was  the  combination  of  greatness  and  self- 
sacrifice  which  won  their  hearts,  the  mighty  powers 
held  under  a  mighty  control,  the  unspeakable  conde¬ 
scension,  the  Cross  of  Christ . 

By  this,  and  by  nothing  else,  the  enthusiasm  of 
a  Paul  was  kindled.  The  statement  rests  on  no 
hypothesis  or  conjecture ;  his  Epistles  bear  testimony 
to  it  throughout.  The  trait  in  Christ  which  filled  his 
whole  mind  was  his  condescension.  The  charm  of 
that  condescension  lay  in  its  being  voluntary.  The 
cross  of  Christ,  of  which  Paul  so  often  speaks  as  the 
only  thing  he  found  worth  glorying  in,  as  that  in  com¬ 
parison  with  which  everything  in  the  world  was 
as  dung ,  was  the  voluntary  submission  to  death  of 
one  who  had  the  power  to  escape  death ;  this  he 
says  in  express  words.  And  what  Paul  constantly 
repeats  in  impassioned  language,  the  other  apostles 
echo.  Christ’s  voluntary  surrender  of  power  is  their 
favorite  subject,  the  humiliation  implied  in  his  whole 
life,  and  crowned  by  his  death.  This  sacrifice,  which 
they  regard  as  made  for  them ,  demands  in  their 
opinion  to  be  requited  by  an  absolute  devotion  on  their 
part  to  Christ.  Beyond  controversy  sucn  was  their 

3* 


ECCE  HOMO. 


58 

feeling,  and  this  feeling  was  the  ground  of  that  obedi¬ 
ence  to  Christ  and  acceptance  of  his  legislation,  which 
made  the  success  of  his  scheme.  If  we  suppose  that 
Christ  really  performed  no  miracles,  and  that  those 
which  are  attributed  to  him  were  the  product  of  self- 
deception  mixed  in  some  proportion  or  other  with 
imposture,  then  no  doubt  the  faith  of  St.  Paul  and  St. 
John  was  an  empty  chimera,  a  mere  misconception ; 
but  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  those  apparent  miracles 
were  essential  to  Christ’s  success,  and  that  had  he 
not  pretended  to  perform  them,  the  Christian  Church 
would  never  have  been  founded,  and  the  name  of 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  would  be  known  at  this  day  only 
to  the  curious  in  Jewish  antiquities. 

We  have  represented  Christ’s  abstinence  from  the 
use  of  his  supernatural  power  as  a  device  by  which  he 
avoided  certain  inconveniences  which  would  have 
arisen  from  the  free  use  of  it.  It  is  true  that  had  he 
not  practised  this  abstinence,  his  legislation  could  not 
have  gained  the  worthy  and  intelligent  acceptance  it 
did  gain ;  and  by  adopting  this  contrivance  he  tri¬ 
umphantly  attained  the  object  he  proposed  to  himself. 
Still  it  was  no  mere  measure  of  prudence  or  policy. 
Christ  himself  probably  never  thought  of  it  as  a  contri¬ 
vance  or  device  ;  to  him  such  self-restraint  no  doubt 
appeared  simply  required  by  duty,  an  essential  part 
of  fidelity  to  the  commission  he  bore.  And  when  we 
have'  investigated  the  character  of  Ch“ist’s  legislation, 
we  shall  find  that  the  great  self-denial  of  his  life, 
besides  being  a  means  of  introducing  his  legislation, 
was  the  greatest  of  all  illustrations  of  the  spirit  of  that 
legislation.  The  kind  of  life  he  prescribed  to  his  fol- 


CHRIST'S  CREDENTIALS. 


39 


lowers  lie  exemplified  in  his  own  person  in  the  most 
striking  way,  by  dedicating  all  his  extraordinary  pow¬ 
ers  to  beneficent  uses  only,  and  deliberately  placing 
himself  for  all  purposes  of  hostility  and  self-defence 
on  a  level  with  the  weakest. 

To  sum  up  the  results  of  this  chapter.  We  began 
by  remarking  that  an  astonishing  plan  met  with  ?.r\ 
astonishing  success,  and  we  raised  the  question  to 
what  instrumentality  that  success  was  due.  Christ 
announced  himself  as  the  Founder  and  Legislator  of 
a  new  Society,  and  as  the  Su23reme  Judge  of  men. 
Now  by  what  means  did  he  procure  that  these  im¬ 
mense  pretensions  should  be  allowed?  He  might 
have  done  it  by  sheer  power ;  he  might  have  adopted 
persuasion,  and  pointed  out  the  merits  of  the  scheme 
and  of  the  legislation  he  proposed  to  introduce.  But 
he  adopted  a  third  plan,  which  had  the  effect  not  mere¬ 
ly  of  securing  obedience,  but  of  exciting  enthusiasm 
and  devotion.  He  laid  men  under  an  immense  obliga¬ 
tion.  He  convinced  them  that  he  was  a  person  of 
altogether  transcendent  greatness,  one  who  needed 
nothing  at  their  hands,  one  whom  it  was  impossible  to 
benefit  by  conferring  riches,  or  fame,  or  dominion 
upon  him,  and  that,  being  so  great,  he  had  devoted 
himself  of  mere  benevolence  to  their  good.  He 
showed  them  that  for  their  sakes  he  lived  a  hard  and 
laborious  life,  and  exposed  himself  to  the  utmost 
malice  of  powerful  men.  They  saw  him  hungry, 
though  they  believed  him  able  to  turn  the  stones  into 
bread ,  they  saw  his  royal  pretensions  spurned,  though 
they  believed  that  he  could  in  a  moment  take  into  his 
hand  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  and  the  glory  of 


6o 


ECCE  HOMO. 


them ;  they  saw  his  life  in  danger ;  they  saw  him  at 
last  expire  in  agonies,  though  they  believed  that,  had 
he  so  willed  it,  no  danger  could  harm  him,  and  that 
had  he  thrown  himself  from  the  topmost  pinnacle  of 
the  temple  he  would  have  been  softly  received  in  the 
arms  of  ministering  angels.  Witnessing  his  sufferings, 
and  convinced  by  the  miracles  they  saw  him  work 
that  they  were  voluntarily  endured,  men’s  hearts  were 
touched,  and  pity  for  weakness  blending  strangely 
with  wondering  admiration  of  unlimited  power,  an 
agitation  of  gratitude,  sympathy,  and  astonishment, 
such  as  nothing  else  could  ever  excite,  sprang  up  in 
them,  and  when,  turning  from  his  deeds  to  his  words, 
they  found  this  very  self-denial  which  had  guided  his 
own  life  prescribed  as  the  principle  which  should 
guide  theirs,  gratitude  broke  forth  in  joyful  obedience, 
self-denial  produced  self-denial,  and  the  Law  and 
Law-Giver  together  were  enshrined  in  their  inmost 
hearts  for  inseparable  veneration. 


6i 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Christ’s  winnowing  fan. 

first  step  in  our  irrve  stigation  is  now  taken. 

We  have  considered  the  Christian  Church  in  its 
idea,  that  is  to  say,  as  it  existed  in  the  mind  of  its 
founder  and  before  it  was  realized.  Our  task  will 
now  become  more  historical  and  will  deal  with  the 
actual  establishment  of  the  new  Theocracy ;  but  we 
shall  endeavor  to  keep  the  idea  always  in  view  and 
sedulously  to  avoid  all  such  details  as  may  have  the 
effect  of  obscuring  it. 

The  founder’s  plan  was  simply  this,  to  renew  in  a 
form  adapted  to  the  new  time  that  divine  Society  of 
which  the  Old  Testament  contains  the  history.  The 
essential  features  of  that  ancient  Theocracy  were : 
(i)  the  divine  Call  and  Election  of  Abraham  ;  (2)  the 
divine  legislation  given  to  the  nation  through  Moses ; 
(3)  the  personal  relation  and  responsibility  of  every 
individual  member  of  the  Theocracy  to  its  Invisible 
King.  As  the  new  Theocracy  was  to  be  the  counter¬ 
part  of  the  old,  it  was  to  be  expected  that  these  three 
features  would  be  reflected  in  it.  Accordingly  we 
have  found  Christ  undertaking  to  issue  a  Call  to  men 
such  as  was  given  to  Abraham,  to  deliver  a  Legisla¬ 
tion  such  as  Israel  had  received  from  Moses,  and  to 
occupy  a  personal  relation  of  Judge  and  Master  to 


62 


ECCE  HOMO. 


every  man  such  as  in  the  earlier  Theocracy  had  been 
occupied  by  Jehovah  himself  without  representative. 

Such  was  the  plan.  In  proceeding  to  consider  the 
execution  of  it,  these  three  essential  features  will 
afford  the  means  of  a  convenient  arrangement,  and 
the  correspondence  of  the  new  Theocracy  to  the  old 
in  respect  of  them  will  afford  a  constant  instructive 
illustration.  Our  investigation  divides  itself  from 
this  point  into  three  parts.  We  shall  treat  in  order  the 
Call,  the  Legislation,  and  the  Divine  Royalty  of  Christ, 
and  in  proceeding  now  to  consider  the  Call  we  shall 
ask  the  question,  In  what  respect  did  the  Call  issued 
by  Christ  differ  from  that  which  came  to  Abraham  ? 

The  Call  then  which  the  first  Christians  received 
differed  from  that  received  by  Abraham,  in  the  first 
place,  in  this  respect,  that  it  did  not  separate  them 
from  civil  society.  Abraham  was  commanded  to 
isolate  himself,  abandoning  his  family  and  his  native 
country.  The  life  he  adopted  was  one  which  was 
possible  in  his  age  and  country.  All  external 
authority  whatsoever  he  threw  off ;  his  actions  were 
controlled  by  no  power  except  that  invisible  one 
which  had  decreed  his  isolation  In  his  case  the 
pioblem  of  the  connection  between  Church  and  State 
was  solved  in  the  most  simple  manner,  namely  by  the. 
abolition  of  the  State.  There  was  but  one  Society, 
of  which  God  was  king,  the  patriarch  being  Ilis 
deputy .  What  intercourse  he  occasionally  had  with 
the  world  outside  his  own  pastoral  encampment  was 
not  like  the  intercourse  of  one  citizen  with  another, 
but  consisted  of  formal  negotiations  or  wars  such  as 
are  transacted  between  states.  Now  the  early  Chris* 


Christ’s  winnowing  fan.  03 

dans,  it  is  true,  compare  themselves  with  Abraham  in 
this  respect.  They  call  themselves  strangers  and  pil¬ 
grims  upon  the  earth,  wanderers  without  a  country 
for  the  present,  but  expecting  one  on  the  other  side  of 
death.  Applied  to  them,  however,  these  expressions 
are  not  literally  true  but  metaphorical,  and  mean  only 
that  the  secular  states  of  which  they  were  members  did 
not  excite  their  interest  or  their  patriotism  so  strongly 
as  the  divine  Society  into  which  Christ  had  called 
them.  All  of  them  were  members  of  some  secular 
state  as  well  as  of  the  Christian  Church ;  a  complex 
system  of  obligations  lay  upon  all  of  them  already 
when  the  new  Christian  obligations  were  imposed, 
and  their  activity  was  confined  by  a  multitude  of  pro¬ 
hibitions. 

In  this  respect  the  Christian  commonwealth  was 
not  only  unlike  the  camp  of  Abraham  but  unlike  the 
ancient  theocracy  at  every  period  of  its  history.  For 
the  political  organization  of  the  Israelites  sprang  up, 
as  it  were,  in  the  bosom  of  the  ecclesiastical  one, 
and  was  never  regarded  as  distinct  from  it.  The 
ancient  Hebrew  never  regarded  himself  as  living  un¬ 
der  two  laws,  one  human  and  the  other  divine.  To 
him  all  law  alike  was  divine,  whether  it  punished 
theft  or  denounced  death  against  idolatry.  He  be¬ 
lieved  both  tables  of  the  law  to  have  been  written 
with  the  linger  of  God.  When  he  went  before  the 
civil  tribunals  it  was  ‘  to  inquire  of  God.’  But  the 
Christian  regarded  the  civil  power  of  his  time  as  ex¬ 
ternal  altogether  to  the  divine  society,  and  though  he 
might  be  ready  to  recognize  it  as  in  some  sense  a 
»li\inc  ordinance  and  as  having  a  right  to  his  one* 


64 


ECCE  HOMO. 


dience,  yet  on  the  other  hand  it  knew  nothing  of  that 
other  commonwealth  to  which  he  professed  to  belong, 
had  no  respect  for  its  laws,  and  would  barely  tolerate 
its  existence. 

The  divine  Society  had  therefore  to  make  its  choice 
between  declaring  open  war  against  the  secular 
societies  in  the  midst  of  which  it  was  established, 
or  refraining  from  all  such  acts  as  those  societies 
would  not  allow.  Following  his  principle  of  abstain* 
ing  from  force,  Christ  adopted  the  latter  course.  Now 
one  principal  thing  no  secular  government  would 
tolerate,  namely,  judicial  tribunals  and  a  penal  ad¬ 
ministration  independent  of  its  own.  We  arrive 
therefore  at  the  first  distinguishing  characteristic  of 
the  Society  into  which  Christ  called  men.  It  was  a 
Society  whose  rules  were  enforced  by  no  punishments. 
The  ancient  Israelite  who  practised  idolatry  was 
stoned  to  death,  but  the  Christian  who  sacrificed  to 
the  genius  of  Cassar  could  suffer  nothing  but  exclusion 
from  the  Society,  and  this  in  times  of  persecution  was 
in  its  immediate  effects  of  the  nature  rather  of  a  re¬ 
ward  than  of  a  punishment.  At  first  it  may  seem 
that  a  society  could  exert  no  strong  effect  upon  man¬ 
kind  which  contained  no  power  of  compulsion  or 
punishment.  But  we  are  to  remember  what  was  said 
above  of  the  judicial  power  of  Jehovah  under  the  old 
theocracy.  That  judicial  power  was  exerted  through 
the  civil  law  courts,  it  is  true,  but  also  in  another  way. 
Jehovah  was  considered  as  judging  in  heaven  as  well 
as  in  the  law  court,  and  as  punishing  by  providential 
visitations  and  by  mysterious  pains  inflicted  on  the 
dead  as  well  as  bv  the  hands  of  the  executioners  of 


Christ’s  winnowing  fan. 


65 


civil  justice.  Now  in  relinquishing  the  ordinal-}/  and 
administrative  punishments,  Christ  retained  for  his 
Society  the  supernatural  ones.  And,  so  long  as  faith 
in  the  truth  of  his  words  continued  lively  among  his 
followers,  the  state  he  founded  was  not  distinguished 
among  the  states  of  the  world  by  laxity  of  obedience 
in  its  members ;  rather  have  these  supernatural  terrors 
and  hopes,  intimately  blended  with  other  motives  of 
which  a  time  will  come  to  speak,  excited  in  the  Chris¬ 
tian  Church  a  more  serious  and  enthusiastic  loyalty 
than  any  secular  commonwealth  has  known. 

We  have  learnt  then  thus  much  of  the  nature  of 
Christ’s  Call.  When  he  went  everywhere  proclaiming 
the  kingdom  of  God  and  summoning  men  to  enroll 
themselves  as  members  of  it,  he  did  not  command 
them  to  abandon  the  national  societies  in  which  they 
were  already  enrolled.  The  Jew  did  not  cease  to  be 
a  Jew  nor  to  yield  obedience  to  Jewish  and  Roman 
authority,  when  he  became  a  Christian ;  nor  did  he 
even  cease  to  take  an  interest  in  national  affairs.  Par¬ 
ticular  Christians  might  do  so  and  might  merge  all 
patriotic  feelings  in  their  devotion  to  the  divine 
Society,  but  Christ  himself  never  ceased  to  feel 
keenly  as  a  patriot.  What  the  Jew  did  on  becom¬ 
ing  a  Christian  was  to  enter  into  a  new  relation  which 
was  additional  to  those  relations  in  which  he  stood 
already.  Besides  the  authorities  which  he  acknowl¬ 
edged  before,  he  now  acknowledged  the  authority  of 
Christ ;  the  law  of  Christ  became  binding  upon  him 
as  well  as  the  law  of  his  country  ;  and  besides  stand¬ 
ing  in  awe  of  the  civil  judge  and  of  the  punishments 
he  might  inflict,  he  now  stood  in  awe  of  Christ,  whom 


66 


ECCE  HOMO. 


he  regarded  as  representing  the  supreme  judicial  maj¬ 
esty  of  Jehovah  in  the  invisible  world. 

Such  then  was  the  nature  of  Christ’s  Call.  We  go 
on  to  consider  who  were  the  objects  of  it.  Here 
again  the  Call  of  Abraham  suggests  by  contrast  a 
peculiarity  in  that  uttered  by  Christ.  In  the  former 
case  one  man  only  was  called,  in  the  latter  all  men 
whatsoever.  The  earlier  Call  was  rigidly  exclusive, 
the  latter  infinitely  comprehensive. 

This  comprehensiveness  may  take  us  by  surprise 
when  we  consider  the  Baptist’s  anticipations  of  Christ’s 
work.  The  baptism  of  John  seems  to  have  been  ab¬ 
solutely  comprehensive ;  all  those  who  came  John 
accepted.  But  he  said  in  reference  to  Christ,  4  There 
stands  one  among  you  .  .  .  whose  fan  is  in  his  hand, 
and  he  will  thoroughly  purge  his  floor,  and  gather 
his  wheat  into  the  garner,  but  the  chaff  he  will  burn 
with  unquenchable  fire.’  It  seems  evident  that  the 
Baptist  meant  to  warn  those  whom  he  had  baptized 
without  distinction  or  condition,  that  Christ’s  work 
would  be  more  thorough  and  searching  than  his,  and 
that  he  would  apply  a  test  of  some  kind,  by  which  tire 
intiincere  would  be  detected  and  separated  from  the 
good.  It  was  the  Baptist’s  belief  that  a  divine  judg¬ 
ment  was  impending  over  the  nation,  and  he  seems 
to  predict  that  Christ  would  make  a  selection  of  the 
sounder  members  of  the  nation,  who  would  then  he 
rescued  from  the  catastrophe,  -while  the  others  would 
be  left  to  their  fate.  This  prediction  assuredly  sug¬ 
gests  to  us  a  course  of  action  different  from  that  which 
Christ  pursued.  We  do  not  at  first  sight  discern  the 
fan  in  his  hand.  We  do  not  find  him,  as  we  might 


Christ’s  winnowing  fan.  67 

expect,  discriminating  the  good  from  the  oad,  and 
honoring  the  former  only  with  his  call,  but  on  the 
contrary,  we  find  him  summoning  all  in  the  same 
words,  and  with  the  same  urgency.  Nevertheless,  on 
a  closer  examination,  it  will  appear  that  Christ  did 
perform  this  work  of  discrimination,  and  that  in  a 
very  remarkable  manner,  and  that  no  expressions 
could  be  more  strikingly  just  than  those  in  which  the 
Baptist  described  it. 

The  difficulty  of  determining  whether  a  man  is  or 
is  not  good  has  now  become  a  commonplace  of  mor¬ 
alists  and  satirists.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  discover 
any  test  which  is  satisfactory,  and  the  test  which  is 
actually  applied  by  society  is  known  to  be  unsatisfac¬ 
tory  in  the  extreme.  The  good  man  of  society  is  sim¬ 
ply  the  man  who  keeps  to  the  prescribed  routine  of 
what  is  commonly  considered  to  be  duty  ;  the  bad 
man  he  who  deserts  it.  In  order  to  arrive  at  this 
view  men  start  from  a  proposition  which  is  true,  but 
they  make  the  mistake  of  assuming  the  converse  prop¬ 
osition  to  be  true.  It  is  true  that  the  good  man  does 
good  deeds,  but  it  is  not  necessarily  true  that  he  who 
does  good  deeds  is  a  good  man.  Selfish  prudence 
dictates  a  virtuous  course  of  action  almost  as  impera¬ 
tively  as  virtue  itself ;  on  the  other  hand,  bad  deeds 
may  be  caused  by  bad  teaching,  bad  exam  pie  or  the 
pressure  of  necessity,  not  less  than  by  a  vicious  dispo¬ 
sition.  And  Christ  showed  throughout  his  life  a  re¬ 
markably  strong  conviction  of  this.  He  found  society 
in  Palestine  in  an  especial  degree  wedded  to  the  con¬ 
ventional  standard.  He  found  one  class  regarded 
with  the  most  excessive  reverence  for  their  minute 


68 


ICCCE  HOMO. 


observance  of  proprieties,  while  those  who  sinned  fell 
under  a  pitiless  excommunication.  But  the  win  no  w- 
ings  of  this  social  fan  did  not  satisfy  him.  He  was 
persuaded  that  it  winnowed  away  much  that  was 
valuable,  and  he  occupied  himself  with  rescuing  the 
outcasts  who  had  been  thus  hastily  rejected ;  much,  on 
the  other  hand,  which  society  stored  up  in  its  garner 
lie  vehemently  pronounced  to  be  chaff.  What  stan¬ 
dard  then  did  he  substitute  in  the  place  of  this  conven¬ 
tional  one  which  he  repudiated  ?  The  society  which 
he  formed  was  recruited  from  all  classes ;  no  one  was 
repelled  on  account  of  his  past  life  ;  publicans  and 
prostitutes  were  freely  admitted  into  it,  and  men  of 
blameless  lives  and  bred  in  Pharisaic  sanctity  learnt 
in  Christ’s  circle  to  hold  intercourse  with  those  whose 
company  they  would  earlier  have  avoided  as  contami¬ 
nating.  As  we  have  seen,  no  one  was  excluded  who 
did  but  choose  to  enter.  Christ  compared  himself  to 
a  king  who  kept  open  house  and  surrounded  his  din¬ 
ner-table  with  beggars  from  the  highway.  And  yet 
in  those  who  became  members  of  the  society,  certain 
common  qualities  might  be  observed,  and  it  will  be 
generally  admitted  that  they  formed,  on  the  whole,  the 
sounder  part  of  the  nation.  Doubtless  there  were 
traitors  and  unworthy  members  among  them ;  Christ 
early  remarked  and  illustrated  by  a  striking  allegory 
the  impossibility  of  perfectly  sifting  the  seed  sown  in 
tl:e  Gospel-field.  Doubtless,  also,  the  fan  in  special 
cases  winnowed  out  some  wheat,  and  there  remained 
to  the  end  in  the  Pharisaic  party  good  men  that  were 
incurably  mistaken.  But,  on  the  whole,  a  winnowing 
was  accomplished  ;  and  almost  all  the  genuine  worth 


Christ’s  winnowing  fan. 


69 

and  virtue  of  the  nation  was  gathered  into  the  Chris¬ 
tian  Church ;  what  remained  without  was  perversity 
and  prejudice,  ignorance  of  the  time,  ignorance  of  the 
truth,  that  mass  of  fierce  infatuation  which  was  burnt 
up  in  the  flames  which  consumed  the  temple,  or  shared 
the  fall  of  the  Antichrist  Barcochebah. 

Some  discriminating  influence,  then,  was  clearly  at 
work,  nor  is  it  very  difficult  to  discern  its  nature. 
Christ  did  not  go  out  of  his  way  to  choose  his  follow¬ 
ers  ;  the  Call  itself  sifted  them  ;  the  Call  itself  was  the 
fan  he  bore  in  his  hand.  For,  though  in  form  the 
same,  it  was  in  practical  power  very  different  from 
that  Call  which  John  had  issued.  Both  John  and 
Christ  proclaimed  the  advent  of  a  new  divine  Society, 
but  John  only  proclaimed  it  as  near,  while  Christ  ex¬ 
hibited  it  as  present,  and  laid  upon  those  who  desired 
to  become  members  of  it  the  practical  obligations  and 
burdens  which  were  involved  in  membership.  To 
obey  John’s  call  was  easy  ;  it  involved  nothing  beyond 
submission  to  a  ceremony ;  and  when  the  prophet  had 
acquired  a  certain  amount  of  credit,  no  doubt  it  be¬ 
came  the  fashion  to  receive  baptism  from  him.  This 
being  so,  he  may  well  have  felt  that  his  work  was  but 
skin  deep  ;  his  prophetic  appeals  to  the  conscience 
had  created  a  mighty  stir,  but  no  real  conviction,  no 
division  between  the  good  and  bad,  no  national  re¬ 
pentance.  Idle  people  resorted  to  his  preaching  for  a 
new  sensation,  frivolous  people  sought  excitement  in 
his  baptism.  With  that  honest  humility  so  character¬ 
istic  of  him,  he  confessed,  not  precisely  his  failure,  but 
the  essentially  imperfect  and  preliminary  nature  01"  his 
work.  No  Messiah,  no  prophet  am  I,  he  said.  He 


70 


ECCE  HOMO. 


said,  I  am  a  voice ,  a  cry  faintly  heard  in  the  distance ; 
I  command  nothing ;  I  exact  nothing ;  I  do  but  bid 
you  be  ready. 

But  after  Aaron,  the  eloquent  speaker,  there  came 
the  new  Moses,  the  Founder  and  Legislator.  To  lis¬ 
ten  to  him  was  no  amusement  for  an  idle  hour ;  his 
preaching  formed  no  convenient  resort  for  light-minded 
people.  His  tone  was  not  more  serious  than  John’s, 
and  it  was  somewhat  less  vehement,  but  it  was  far 
more  imperious  and  exacting.  John  was  contented 
with  hearers ;  when  he  had  delivered  his  admonitions, 
he  relaxed  his  hold,  and  it  was  free  to  those  who  had 
listened  to  subside  into  the  easy  tranquillity  which  his 
eloquence  had  disturbed  while  it  lasted.  But  Christ 
demanded  followers ,  recruits  for  the  great  work  he 
had  in  hand,  settlers  for  the  new  city  that  was  to  be 
founded,  subjects  for  the  king  he  announced  himself 
to  be.  Those  who  listened  to  him  must  be  prepared 
to  change  all  their  prospects,  and  to  adopt  a  new 
mode  of  life.  The  new  mode  of  life  was  indeed  not 
necessarily  a  hard  one.  Christ  did  not  impose  ascetic 
exercises  upon  his  followers.  He  was  an  indulgent 
master,  and  for  a  considerable  time  those  who  enrolled 
themselves  in  the  new  Theocracy  had  no  reason  to 
dread  any  serious  persecution  from  Jew  or  Roman. 
But  he  forewarned  them  that  times  would  change  in 
this  respect,  and  in  the  mean  while  the  devotion  of  a 
life  to  a  new  discipline,  even  though  not  a  severe  one, 
demands  at  least  a  certain  power  of  self-devotion  which 
many  do  not  possess ;  and  Christ’s  discipline  was  in 
fact  harder  to  human  nature  than  it  seemed,  for  it 
demanded  a  certain  moral  originality  and  strenuous* 


CHRIST’S  WINNOWING  FAN. 


71 


ness  of  self-regeneration  which  men  find  in  the  long 
run  more  burdensome  than  the  severest  physical  en¬ 
durances  and  austerities.  Clearly,  therefore,  Christ’s 
Call  imposed  upon  men  the  necessity  of  making  a 
great  resolution,  of  sacrificing  a  good  deal.  On  the 
other  hand,  what  did  it  offer?  What  equiva.ent  could 
be  expected  by  those  who  made  the  sacrifice  ?  Per¬ 
haps  those  who  gathered  early  about  the  Messiah 
might  expect  places  and  dignities  in  his  kingdom,  to 
sit  on  thrones  judging  the  tribes  of  Israel.  This  was 
undoubtedly  the  current  belief,  and  it  may  have  led 
many  to  attach  themselves  to  Christ  from  motives 
purely  mercenary.  But  in  a  little  time  such  adven¬ 
turers  must  have  remarked  that  in  Christ’s  language 
which  would  strike  them  with  a  sudden  chill.  They 
must  have  felt  their  hopes  gliding  away  beneath  their 
feet  as  they  listened.  The  sacrifices  they  had  made 
were  unquestionable ;  many  had  left  their  homes  and 
adopted  a  wandering  life  with  their  master ;  they  had 
joined  a  suspected  sect ;  they  were  partisans  of  an 
extreme  movement ;  they  had  placed  themselves  in 
opposition  to  the  orthodoxy  of  the  country.  The  risk 
they  ran  was  certain,  but  the  rewards  they  had  ex¬ 
pected  in  the  coming  kingdom  of  the  Messiah  wei\<» 
less  certain.  It  would  seem  to  them  that  Christ  ex¬ 
plained  his  promises  away.  The  royalty  which  he 
professed  to  bear  himself  was  to  vulgar  apprehensions 
a  mock  royalty.  It  had  no  substance  of  power  or 
wealth ;  yet  he  continued  to  call  it  royalty.  They 
would  soon  begin  to  suspect  that  the  subordinate  dig¬ 
nities  in  the  new  kingdom  were  of  the  same  insubstan¬ 
tial  character.  And  many  of  them  would  hear  with 


ECCE  HOMO. 


bitter  disappointment,  and  some  with  furious  hatred, 
exhortations  to  humility,  to  contentment  with  a  lowly 
place,  from  the  lips  of  him  whom  they  had  expected 
to  make  their  fortunes.  In  this  way  the  interested 
and  mercenary  would  fall  off  from  him.  The  Call, 
which  had  acted  as  a  test  upon  some  directly  by  re¬ 
quiring  from  them  an  effort  which  they  were  not 
pi  epared  to  make,  would  winnow  away  others  more 
giadually  as  soon  as  it  was  understood  to  offer  no 
prospects  which  could  tempt  a  worldly  mind. 

In  this  way,  without  excluding  any,  Christ  suffered 
the  unworthy  to  exclude  themselves.  He  kept  them 
aloof  by  offering  them  nothing  which  they  could  find 
attractive.  And  all  those  who  found  Christ’s  Call 
attractive  were  such  as  were  worthy  to  receive  it. 
Some  made  up  their  minds  without  hesitation.  The 
worldly,  the  preoccupied,  turned  away  with  peremp¬ 
tory  contempt ;  a  few  of  rare  devotion  closed  with  the 
Call  at  once.  But  the  greater  number  were  placed  by 
it  in  a  state  of  painful  suspense  and  hesitation  which 
lasted  a  long  time.  First,  to  understand  distinctly 
what  it  was  which  was  proposed  to  them  ;  next,  to 
make  up  their  minds  as  to  the  character  of  him  who 
made  such  novel  proposals,  and  advanced  pretensions 
so  unbounded ;  all  this  cost  them  much  perplexity. 
But  when  so  much  was  done,  and  they  had  decided 
favorably  to  the  Prophet  and  his  Theocracy,  then 
came  the  greater  difficulty,  that  of  resolving  to  embark 
in  an  enterprise  so  unprecedented  even  at  the  beck  of 
one  whom  they  acknowledged  to  hold  a  divine  com¬ 
mission.  To  break  with  prejudice  and  with  conven¬ 
tion,  to  enter  upon  a  great  and  free  life,  is  not  done 


CHRIST’S  WINNOWING  FAN. 


73 


until  some  doubts  have  been  mastered  and  some  cow¬ 
ard  hesitations  silenced.  In  the  midst  of  men  who 
were  in  one  stage  or  other  of  this  mental  conflict, 
Christ  moved.  His  words  spread  around  him  a 
perpetual  ferment,  an  ever-seething  effervescence. 
Anxious  broodings,  waxing  or  waning  -convictions, 
resolutions  slowly  shaping  themselves,  a  great  travail 
of  hearts,  went  on  about  him.  An  appeal  had  been 
made  to  what  was  noblest  in  each  ;  each  had  been 
summoned  to  shake  off  routine  and  convention  ;  some 
were  gathering  strength  to  accomplish  the  feat,  some 
abandoning  the  attempt  in  despair.  According  to  the 
issue  of  the  conflict  each  man’s  worthiness  would 
appear.  This,  then,  was  the  winnowing  which  Christ 
did  among  men.  The  Call  itself  was  in  his  hand  as 
a  fan. 

Of  this  effect  produced  by  his  words  he  was  fully 
conscious.  He  watched  it  with  constant  interest,  and 
of  his  recorded  sayings  a  large  proportion  are  illus¬ 
trative  descriptions  of  the  different  effect  of  the  Call 
upon  different  characters.  At  one  time  he  described 
the  ferment  it  produced,  and  its  gradual  diffusion 
through  the  community,  by  comparing  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  to  leaven  which  a  woman  hides  in  two 
measures  of  meal  until  the  whole  is  leavened.  At 
another  time  he  compares  the  Call  (the  Word)  to 
seed  sown  in  different  sorts  of  ground,  but  bearing  a 
prosperous  crop  in  one  sort  only.  To  one  class  he 
found  it  was  like  a  treasure  hidden  in  a  field,  which 
not  to  lose  a  man  sells  all  his  property  and  buys  the 
field ;  to  another  class  it  is  an  invitation  which  they 
decline  with  civil  excuses.  Thus  it  shows  each  man 


74 


ECCO  HOMO 


in  his  genuine  character,  and,  on  the  whole,  those 
who  accept  the  Call  and  abide  by  it  are  worthy  of  it. 
Yet  to  this  rule  there  are  a  good  many  exceptions. 
When  the  seed  has  been  sown  in  the  best  ground, 
tares  will  spring  up  with  the  wheat ;  thrown  in,  as  it 
were,  by  some  spiteful  neighbor.  And  when  the  win¬ 
nowing  has  thus  failed  through  mishap,  we  must  not 
interfere  further,  says  Christ ;  he  will  have  no  artificial 
winnowing  by  mere  presumptuous  private  judgment 
of  each  other. 

These  are  specimens  of  Christ’s  reflections  upon  the 
working  of  his  proclamation.  They  offer  nothing 
which  need  surprise  us.  Such  a  winnowing  of  men 
as  he  accomplished  is  not  unique  in  kind.  Every 
high-minded  leader  who  gathers  followers  round  him 
for  any  great  purpose,  when  he  calls  to  self-sacrifice 
and  has  no  worldly  rewards  to  offer,  does  something 
similar.  He  too  in  his  degree  winnows  men.  And 
therefore  in  tracing  the  history  of  many  other  move¬ 
ments  which  have  agitated  large  numbers,  we  are 
often  reminded  of  those  parables  of  Christ  that  begin, 
4  The  kingdom  of  heaven  is  like — If  those  parables 
are  read  together,  they  present  an  almost  complete 
account  of  the  ferment  produced  in  a  large  and  various 
society  by  a  great  principle  presented  to  it  impressively 
and  practically.  In  all  such  cases  each  individual 
that  comes  within  the  influence  may  be  said  to  pass 
an  ordeal,  and  some  characters  come  out  from  it  vin¬ 
dicated  that  before  were  suspected  to  be  worthless, 
and  others  are  unmasked  that  had  before  imposed 
upon  the  world.  But  now  what  is  the  quality  that 
carries  a  man  through  the  ordeal?  Can  we  find  a 


Christ’s  winnowing  fan. 


75 


name  for  it?  It  is,  no  doubt,  neither  more  nor  less 
than  moral  worth  or  goodness ;  but  this  is  no  reason 
why  a  more  precise  name  should  not  be  given  to  this 
particular  aspect  of  goodness.  For,  in  fact,  all  the 
good  qualities  to  which  we  give  names,  as  justice, 
temperance,  courage,  &c.,  are  not  so  much  parts  of 
goodness  as  aspects  of  it,  and  no  man  can  have  any 
one  of  them  without  having  in  a  degree  all  the  others. 
What  then  shall  we  call  goodness  when  it  shows  itself 
conquering  convention,  and  unselfishly  ranging  itself 
on  the  right  side  in  those  crises  when  good  and  evil 
are  most  visibly  opposed  to  each  other  ? 

The  first  Christians  had  manifestly  occasion  for  such 
a  word,  and  one  came  into  use  which  may  be  said  to 
have  become  a  permanent  addition  to  the  moral  vo¬ 
cabulary  of  the  world.  This  word  was  faith.  It  was 
not  altogether  new ;  it  might  be  found  in  the  writings 
of  the  prophets ;  but  it  had  never  before  seemed  so 
important  or  so  expressive  of  the  essential  worth  of  a 
man.  When  he  rejected  the  test  of  correct  conduct 
which  society  uses,  Christ  substituted  the  test  of  faith. 
It  is  to  be  understood  that  this  is  not  strictly  a  Chris¬ 
tian  virtue  ;  it  is  the  virtue  required  of  one  who  wishes 
to  become  a  Christian.  So  much  a  man  must  bring 
with  him  ;  without  it  he  is  not  worthy  of  the  kingdom 
of  God.  To  those  who  lack  faith  Christ  will  not  be 
Legislatoi  or  King.  He  does  not,  indeed,  dismiss 

them,  but  he  suffers  them  to  abandon  a  societv  which 
soon  ceases  to  have  any  attraction  for  them.  Such, 

then,  is  the  new  test,  and  it  will  be  found  the  only  one 
which  could  answer  Christ’s  purpose  of  excluding  all 
hollow  discinles  and  including  all,  however  rude  and 


76 


ECCE  HOMO. 


vicious,  who  were  capable  of  better  things.  Every 
other  good  quality  which  we  may  wish  to  make  the 
test  of  a  man  implies  either  too  little  or  too  much  for 
tins  purpose. 

Justice  is  often  but  a  form  of  pedantry,  mercy  mere 
easiness  of  temper,  courage  a  mere  firmness  of  physi* 
cal  constitution  ;  but  if  these  virtues  are  genuine,  ther 
they  indicate  not*  goodness  merely  but  goodness  con¬ 
siderably  developed.  A  man  may  be  potentially  just 
or  merciful,  yet  from  defect  of  training  he  may  be 
actually  neither.  We  want  a  test  which  shall  admit 
all  who  have  it  in  them  to  be  good  whether  their 
good  qualities  be  trained  or  no.  Such  a  test  is  found 
in  faith.  He  who,  when  goodness  is  impressively  put 
before  him,  exhibits  an  instinctive  loyalty  to  it,  starts 
forward  to  take  its  side,  trusts  himself  to  it,  such  a 
man  has  faith,  and  the  root  of  the  matter  is  in  such  a 
man.  He  may  have  habits  of  vice,  but  the  loyal  and 
faithful  instinct  in  him  will  place  him  above  many 
that  practise  virtue.  He  may  be  rude  in  thought  and 
character,  but  he  will  unconsciously  gravitate  towards 
what  is  right.  Other  virtues  can  scarcely  thrive  with¬ 
out  a  fine  natural  organization  and  a  happy  training. 
But  the  most  neglected  and  ungifted  of  men  may 
make  a  beginning  with  faith.  Other  virtues  want 
civilization,  a  certain  amount  of  knowledge,  a  few 
books  ;  but  in  half-brutal  countenances  faith  will  light 
lip  a  glimmer  of  nobleness.  The  savage,  who  can  do 
little  else,  can  wonder  and  worship  and  enthusiasti¬ 
cally  obey.  He  who  cannot  know  what  is  right  can 
know  that  some  one  else  knows,  he  who  has  no  law 
may  still  have  a  master,  he  who  is  incapable  of  justice 


Christ’s  winnowing  fan.  yj 

may  be  capable  of  fidelity,  he  who  understands  little 
may  have  his  sins  forgiven  because  he  loves  much. 

Let  us  sum  up  the  points  of  difference  which  we 
have  discovered  between  the  Old  Theocracy  and  the 
New.  The  Old  Theocracy  was  utterly  independent  of 
all  political  organizations.  It  was  therefore  able  to 
create  a  political  organization  of  its  own.  The  laws 
of  the  Theocracy  were  enforced  by  temporal  punish¬ 
ments,  as  indeed  at  a  time  when  the  immortality  of  the 
soul  was  not  recognized  they  could  be  enforced  by  no 
other.  The  New  Theocracy  was  set  up  in  the  midst 
of  a  political  organization  highly  civilized  and  exact¬ 
ing.  It  was  therefore  as  completely  devoid  of  any 
system  of  temporal  punishments  as  the  Old  had  been 
devoid  of  any  other  system.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
its  members  believed  themselves  to  live  under  the  eye 
of  a  Judge  whose  tribunal  was  in  heaven  and  into 
whose  hands  they  were  to  fall  at  death.  Again,  the 
Old  Theocracy  selected  a  single  family  out  of  the  mass 
of  mankind,  while  the  New  gathered  out  of  mankind, 
by  a  summons  which  though  absolutely  comprehen¬ 
sive  was  yet  not  likely  to  be  obeyed  but  by  a  certain 
class,  all  such  as  possessed  any  natural  loyalty  to 
goodness,  enthusiasm  enough  to  join  a  great  cause, 
and  devotion  enough  to  sacrifice  something  to  it. 


78 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CONDITIONS  OF  MEMBERSHIP  IN 

Christ’s  kingdom. 


HE  question  now  arises,  What  was  involved  in 


obeying  Christ’s  summons?  When  the  crowd 
of  faithful  and  loyal  hearts  gathered  round  him,  struck 
with  admiration  of  the  wisdom  that  was  so  conde¬ 
scending  and  the  power  that  was  so  beneficent,  when, 
without  throwing  off  the  yoke  of  citizenship  in  earthly 
states,  they  accepted  the  burdens  of  citizenship  in  the 
New  Jerusalem,  and  without  ceasing  to  be  amenable 
to  Jewish  and  Roman  judges,  became  responsible  for 
all  their  deeds  and  even  for  all  their  thoughts  to  Christ, 
what  was  the  extent  of  the  new  obligation  which  they 
incurred?  How  did  a  Christian  differ  from  another 


man? 


Ever  since  the  Church  was  founded  up  to  the  pres¬ 
ent  time  this  question,  What  makes  a  man  a  Chris¬ 
tian?  has  been  an  all-important  practical  question. 
The  answers  given  to  it  in  the  present  day  differ 
widely  with  the  tolerance  of  those  who  give  them,  but 
they  are  generally  the  same  in  kind.  They  consist  in 
specifying  certain  doctrines  about  God  and  Christ 
which  a  Christian  must  needs  believe.  One  will  say, 
He  is  no  Christian  who  does  not  believe  that  the  death 
of  Christ  effected  a  permanent  change  in  the  relations 


MEMBERSHIP  IN  CHRIST  S  KINGDOM.  79 

between  man  and  God.  Another  will  say,  He  is  no 
Christian  who  does  not  believe  in  the  Divinity  of 
Christ.  A  third  will  say,  It  is  necessary  to  believe  in 
the  Resurrection.  Whether  or  no  these  beliefs,  any 
or  all  of  them,  be  necessary  to  the  character  of  a 
Christian  now,  we  may  assert  with  absolute  confidence 
that  they  were  not  required  of  the  first  followers  of 
Christ,  and  further,  that  most  of  them  had  never  oc¬ 
curred  to  their  minds.  Nothing  could  suggest  to  them 
the  Resurrection  of  Christ  until  he  began  darkly  to 
prophesy  of  it  to  his  most  intimate  disciples ;  and 
when  he  did  so  they  listened,  we  are  told,  writh  be¬ 
wilderment  and  incredulity.  So  far  from  regarding 
the  cross  of  Christ  as  the  basis  of  a  reconciliation  be¬ 
tween  God  and  man,  they  would  have  listened  with 
horror  to  the  suggestion  that  their  Master  was  destined 
to  such  a  death.  The  Divinity  of  his  person  might 
indeed  occur  to  some  of  those  who  witnessed  his 
miraculous  works,  but  it  was  certainly  not  generally 
received  in  the  society,  for  we  find  Christ  pronouncing 
a  solemn  blessing  upon  Peter  for  being  the  first  to 
arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  he  was  the  Messiah.  It 
appears,  then,  that  so  long  as  their  master  was  with 
them  the  creed  of  the  first  Christians  was  of  the  most 
unformed  and  elementary  character.  To  the  ordinary 
belief  of  their  age  and  country  they  added  nothing 
except  certain  vague  conceptions  of  the  greatness  of 
the  new  Prophet,  whom  the  less  advanced  regarded 
as  likely  before  long  to  establish  a  new  royal  dynasty 
at  Jerusalem,  while  others  of  greater  penetration  re¬ 
garded  him  as  a  new  Moses  nnd  a  divinely  commis¬ 
sioned  reformei  of  the  law.  *It  is  clear,  then,  that 


8o 


ECCE  HOMO. 


those  who  consider  an  elaborace  creed  essential  to  the 
Christian  character  must  pronounce  Christ’s  first  dis¬ 
ciples  utterly  unworthy  to  bear  the  name  of  Christians. 
But  to  this  such  persons  may  answer  that  the  first  dis¬ 
ciples  were  indeed  only  Christians  in  a  very  imperfect 
sense,  and  that  before  the  Resurrection  it  could  not  be 
otherwise.  That  event  increased  the  number  of  dog¬ 
mas  which  Christians  are  required  to  receive;  before 
it  happened  their  creed  was  necessarily  meagre,  but 
since  it  has  happened  a  Christian  is  not  worthy  of  the 
name  if  he  does  not  believe  much  more  than  any  of 
Christ’s  first  followers. 

This  view  is  plausible,  and  agrees  at  first  sight  with 
the  conclusions  at  which  we  have  already  arrived. 
Christ,  wre  have  said,  announced  himself  as  the 
Founder  and  Legislator  of  a  new  state,  and  sum¬ 
moned  men  before  him  in  that  capacity.  He  did  not 
invite  them  as  friends,  nor  even  as  pupils,  but  sum¬ 
moned  them  as  subjects.  It  was  natural  that  when 
they  first  gathered  round  him,  and  even  for  some  time 
afterwards,  they  should  differ  from  other  men  in  noth¬ 
ing  but  the  loyalty  which  had  led  them  to  obey  the 
Call.  They  understood  that  they  had  been  summoned 
in  order  to  receive  laws,  but  those  law's  could  not  be 
promulgated  all  at  once.  In  the  mean  time,  while 
they  were  expecting  the  institutions  that  had  been 
promised  to  them,  though  Christians  in  will,  they 
could  not  be  called  Christians  in  the  full  sense  of  the 
word.  Though  out  of  them  the  Christian  Church 
was  to  spring,  yet  they  might  well  be  as  unlike  the 
Christian  Church  as  the  acorn  is  unlike  the  oak,  or  as 
the  crew  of  the  Mayflower  was  unlike  the  States  ol 


MEMBERSHIP  IN  CHRIST’S  KINGDOM.  hi 

New  England.  But  after  the  Church  had  received  its 
Founder’s  laws  —  laws  which,  like  the  Decalogue, 
contained  not  merely  practical  rules  of  life,  but  decla¬ 
rations  concerning  the  nature  of  God  and  man’s  rela¬ 
tion  to  him,  then  Christianity  may  have  begun  to 
mean  no  mere  fidelity  or  loyalty  to  Christ’s  person, 
but  the  practical  obedience  to  his  rules  of  life,  and  the 
unquestioning  acceptance  of  his  theological  teaching. 

In  a  sense  it  is  true  that  Christianity  does  mean 
this.  Christ  demanded  as  much,  and  was  assuredly 
not  satisfied  with  less.  In  the  same  way  every  state 
demands  of  its  citizens  perfect  patriotism  and  perfect 
obedience  to  the  laws.  Yet  perfect  patriotism  and 
obedience  are  scarcely  found  in  any  citizen  of  any 
state ;  but  the  state,  though  it  demands  so  much,  does 
not  exclude  the  citizen  who  renders  less.  It  is  one 
thing  to  be  an  imperfect  citizen,  and  another  to  be 
excluded  from  citizenship  altogether.  In  like  mannei 
it  is  one  thing  to  be  an  imperfect  Christian,  and 
another  to  be  utterly  unworthy  of  the  name.  And  it 
will  be  found,  on  further  examination,  that  the  Chris¬ 
tian  Church  is  content  with  a  much  more  imperfect 
obedience  to  its  law  than  any  secular  state.  It  does 
not,  indeed,  promulgate  laws  without  expecting  them 
to  be  observed  ;  it  constantly  maintains  a  standard  by 
which  every  Christian  is  to  try  himself ;  nevertheless, 
whereas  every  secular  state  enacts  and  obtains  from 
its  members  an  almost  perfect  obedience  to  its  laws, 
the  lawrs  of  the  Divine  State  are  fully  observed  by 
scarcely  any  one,  and  the  most  that  can  be  said  even 
of  Christians  that  rise  decidedly  above  the  average  is 
that  they  do  not  forget  them,  and  that  by  slow  degrees 

4* 


83 


ECCE  HOMO. 


they  arrive  at  a  general  conformity  with  them.  The 
reason  of  this  will  appear  when  we  treat  in  detail  of 
Christ’s  legislation.  It  will  then  become  clear  that 
Christ’s  legislation  is  of  a  nature  infinitely  more  com¬ 
plex  in  its  exactions  upon  every  individual  than  any 
secular  code,  and  that  accordingly  a  complete  obser¬ 
vance  of  it  is  infinitely  difficult.  For  this  reason  it  is  a 
matter  of  universal  consent  among  Christians  that  no 
man  is  to  suffer  exclusion  from  their  society  for  any 
breach  of  Christ’s  laws  that  is  not  of  a  flagrant  and 
outrageous  kind.  Though  it  is  common  to  hear  a 
man  pronounced  no  Christian  for  not  believing  in 
what  is  called  the  Atonement,  yet  no  such  excom¬ 
munication  is  passed  upon  men  in  whom  some  very 
unchristian  vices,  such  as  selfishness  or  reckless  party- 
spirit,  are  plainly  visible.  The  reason  of  our  tolerance 
in  the  latter  case  is  that  we  all  acknowledge  the  im¬ 
mense  difficulty  of  overcoming  a  vice  when  it  has 
become  confirmed,  and  we  charitably  give  the  man 
who  has  visibly  not  overcome  his  vices  credit  at  least 
for  struggling  against  them. 

This  is  quite  right ;  only  we  ought  to  be  just  as 
tolerant  of  an  imperfect  creed  as  we  are  of  an  imper¬ 
fect  practice.  Everything  which  can  be  urged  in  ex¬ 
cuse  for  the  latter  may  also  be  pleaded  for  the  former. 
If  the  way  to  Christian  action  is  beset  by  corrupt 
habits  and  misleading  passions,  the  path  to  Christian 
truth  is  overgrown  with  prejudices,  and  strewn  with 
fallen  theories  and  rotting  systems  which  hide  it  from 
our  view.  It  is  quite  as  hard  to  think  rightly  as  it  is 
to  act  rightly,  or  even  to  feel  rightly.  And  as  all 
allow  that  an  error  is  a  less  culpable  thing  than  a 


MEMBERSHIP  IN  CHRISTAS  KINGDOM.  5$ 

crime  or  a  vicious  passion,  it  is  monstrous  that  it 
should  be  more  severely  punished ;  it  is  monstrous 
that  Christ,  who  was  called  the  friend  of  publicans 
and  sinners,  should  be  represented  as  the  pitiless 
enemy  of  bewildered  seekers  of  truth.  How  could 
men  have  been  guilty  of  such  an  inconsistency  ?  By 
speaking  of  what  they  do  not  understand.  Men,  in 
general,  do  not  understand  or  appreciate  the  difficulty 
of  finding  truth.  All  men  must  act,  and  therefore  all 
men  learn  in  some  degree  how  difficult  it  is  to  act 
rightly.  The  consequence  is  that  all  men  can  make 
excuse  for  those  who  fail  to  act  rightly.  But  all  men 
are  not  compelled  to  make  an  independent  search  for 
truth,  and  those  who  voluntarily  undertake  to  do  so 
are  always  few.  They  ought,  indeed,  to  find  pity  and 
charity  when  they  fail,  for  their  undertaking  is  full  of 
hazard,  and  in  the  course  of  it  they  are  too  apt  to 
leave  friends  and  companions  behind  them,  and  when 
they  succeed  they  bring  back  glorious  spoils  for  those 
who  remained  at  home  criticising  them.  But  they 
cannot  expect  such  charity,  for  the  hazards  and  diffi¬ 
culties  of  the  undertaking  are  known  to  themselves 
alone.  To  the  world  at  large  it  seems  quite  easy  to 
find  truth  and  inexcusable  to  miss  it.  And  no  won¬ 
der  !  For  by  finding  truth  they  mean  only  learning 
by  lote  the  maxims  current  around  them. 

Present  to  an  ordinary  man  the  maxim,  4  Love  your 
enemies  ;  *  you  may  hear  him  sigh  as  he  answers  that 
the  saying  is  divine,  but  he  fears  he  shall  never  prac¬ 
tise  it.  The  reason  is  that  he  has  an  enemy  and  fully 
understands  what  it  is  to  love  him,  and  also  what  it 
is  to  hate  him.  Present  to  the  same  man  the  saying, 


84 


ECCE  HOMO. 


‘  The  Word  was  made  flesh,’  and  what  will  he  answer  ? 
If  he  answered  the  truth  he  would  say  that  he  did 
not  understand  it ;  but  he  would  not  be  quite  an  ordi¬ 
nary  man  if  he  could  recognize  his  own  ignorance  so 
plainly.  He  will  answer  that  he  believes  it,  by  which 
he  means  that  as  the  words  make  no  impression  what 
ever  upon  his  mind,  so  they  excite  no  opposition  in  it 
Present  the  same  two  texts  to  a  thinker.  It  is  not 
impossible  that  the  first  may  seem  to  him  no  hard 
saying ;  he  may  have  no  enemies,  or  his  thoughtful 
habits  may  have  brought  his  passions  under  control. 
But  the  second  will  overwhelm  him  with  difficulty. 
For  he  knows  what  it  asserts ;  he  may  have  been 
accustomed  to  regard  the  loyog  as  the  technicality  of 
an  extinct  philosophy,  and  may  be  staggered  to  find  it 
thus  imported  into  history  and  made  the  groundwork 
of  what  aspires  to  be  a  permanent  theology.  It  is  at 
this  point,  then,  that  the  thinker  will  sigh,  and  you 
will  hear  him  murmur  that  it  is  a  great  saying,  but  he 
fears  he  shall  never  believe  it. 

Thus  Christian  belief  is  fully  as  hard  a  thing  as 
Christian  practice.  It  is  intrinsically  as  hard,  and 
those  who  do  not  perceive  the  difficulty  of  it  under¬ 
stand  it  just  so  much  less  than  those  who  do.  Christ’s 
first  followers,  as  we  have  seen,  were  far  from  pos¬ 
sessing  the  full  Christian  belief.  Not  till  long  after  his 
departure  did  they  arrive  at  those  conclusions  which 
are  now  regarded  as  constituting  Christian  theology. 
In  their  position,  we  have  admitted,  this  was  almost 
inevitable.  The  great  events  upon  which  that  theology 
rests,  had  either  not  happened,  or  not  been  maturely 
considered.  These  difficulties  have  been  removed ; 


MEMBERSHIP  IN  CHRIST’S  KINGDOM.  85 

but  have  not  other  difficulties  taken  their  place?  Two 
may  be  mentioned  which  beset  the  modern  inquirer 
into  Christianity,  and  often  make  his  theology  as  im¬ 
perfect  and  confused  as  that  of  the  crowd  of  disciples 
who  gathered  round  Christ. 

1.  To  the  first  Christians  the  capital  facts  of  Christ’s 
life  were  future  and  therefore  obscure ;  to  the  moderns 
they  gather  an  almost  equal  obscurity  from  being  long 
past.  The  immensity  of  distance  from  which  we  con¬ 
template  them  raises  many  obstacles  to  belief.  Before 
the  theology  can  be  inferred  from  the  facts  the /  must 
be  well  authenticated.  Those  who  witnessed  them  or 
talked  with  those  who  had  witnessed  them  were  le- 
lieved  from  all  trouble  on  this  head.  But  in  these 
days  many  fail  in  the  preliminary  undertaking.  Com¬ 
plicated  questions  of  evidence  perplex  them  ;  they  are 
assailed  with  doubts  of  the  possibility  of  transmitting 
from  age  to  age  a  trustworthy  account  of  any  long 
series  of  incidents,  especially  a  series  including  mira¬ 
cles.  Suppose  this  difficulty  surmounted,  still  the 
same  remoteness  of  the  life  of  Christ  creates  much 
difficulty  in  ascertaining  the  meaning  of  the  words  he 
used,  and  the  exact  nature  of  the  doctrines  he  taught 
For  those  words  and  those  doctrines  have  been  sub¬ 
jected  to  the  ingenuity  of  many  generations  of  com¬ 
mentators.  Spoken  originally  to  men  of  the  ancient 
world,  they  have  received  a  succession  of  medieval 
and  modern  glosses,  and  if  we  put  these  aside  and 
study  the  text  for  ourselves,  our  own  training,  the 
education  and  habits  of  the  nineteenth  century,  dis¬ 
qualify  us  in  a  considerable  degree  for  entering  into 
its  meaning.  Only  a  well-trained  historical  iinagina- 


86 


ECCE  HOMO. 


tion,  active  and  yet  calm,  is  competent  so  to  revive  the 
circumstances  of  place  and  time  in  which  the  words 
were  delivered  as  to  draw  from  them,  at  a  distance  of 
eighteen  hundred  years,  a  meaning  tolerably  like  that 
which  they  conveyed  to  those  who  heard  them. 

2.  Christ’s  first  followers  had  a  sympathy  with  him, 
and  his  mode  of  teaching  had  an  adaptation  to  them, 
which  arose  from  the  fact  of  the  Master  and  disciples 
being  contemporaries  and  fellow-countrymen.  It  is 
common  to  say  of  political  constitutions  that  they  must 
grow  and  cannot  be  made.  Now  the  constitution 
which  Christ  gave  to  mankind  has  been  found  capable 
of  being  transplanted  into  almost  every  soil,  but,  not¬ 
withstanding,  it  is  native  to  Palestine,  and  must  have 
been  embraced  by  those  to  whom  it  was  first  given 
with  an  ease  and  readiness  which  the  Western  nations 
cannot  emulate.  Christ’s  constitution  was  not  a  new 
invention,  but  a  crowning  development  of  that  which 
had  existed  in  Palestine  since  the  race  of  Israel  had 
lived  there.  For  centuries  the  Jews  had  been  accus¬ 
tomed  to  receive  truth  by  authoritative  proclamation 
from  the  mouth  of  a  prophet.  How  the  truth  came 
to  the  prophet  he  himself  knew  not ;  the  only  account 
he  could  give  of  the  matter  was  that  it  was  put  into 
his  mouth  by  the  Invisible  King  of  the  Theocracy 
and  that  he  knew  it  to  be  truth.  And  those  who  lis¬ 
tened  put  the  proclamation  to  no  rigid  test.  They 
watched  the  prophet  to  see  if  he  were  honest,  and  if 
his  proclamation  shook  their  hearts  and  stirred  their 
blood  and  seemed  to  bring  them  into  the  presence  of 
the  Invisible  King,  they  then  felt  sure  of  its  truth  and 
safe  in  following  it.  Now  of  these  prophets  Chrisi 


MEMBERSHIP  IN  CHRIST’S  KINGDOM 


87 

was  distinctly  one,  the  greatest  of  all.  He  had  the 
same  intuitive  certainty,  for  which  he  gave  no  reason, 
yet  which  no  one  could  attribute  to  mere  self-confi¬ 
dence,  the  same  tone  of  unbounded  authority  assumed 
m  the  name  of  God,  the  same  power  of  subduing  the 
heart  and  arousing  the  conscience.  Therefore  those 
ivbo  heard  him  found  something  familiar  in  his  style. 
It  reminded  them  of  all  that  they  were  most  accus¬ 
tomed  to  venerate,  of  Moses,  Isaiah,  Ezra,  and  they 
seemed  to  fall  into  their  natural  places  when  they  sat 
at  his  feet  and  treasured  up  his  words  as  oracles  of 
truth. 

Now  this  mode  of  communicating  and  receiving 
truth  is  not  indeed  repugnant  to  the  Western  nations. 
From  the  time  of  Pythagoras  and  Heraclitus  to  the 
time  of  Carlyle  and  Mazzini,  men  have  arisen  at  in¬ 
tervals  in  the  West  who  have  seemed  to  themselves  to 
discover  truth,  not  so  much  by  a  process  of  reasoning 
as  by  an  intense  gaze,  and  who  have  announced  their 
conclusions  in  the  voice  of  a  herald,  using  the  name 
of  God  and  giving  no  reasons.  And  in  the  Western 
world  these  men  have  always  met  with  a  certain  ac¬ 
ceptance  ;  they  have  generally  succeeded  in  gatheiing 
round  them  followers  of  respectable  character  and  un¬ 
derstanding  ;  and  so  fully  is  the  possibility  of  such  a 
prophetic  discovery  of  truth  recognized,  that  the  Jew¬ 
ish  prophets  themselves  have  been  received  throughout 
the  West  with  profound  veneration.  Still  the  respect 
for  authority  in  knowledge  is  far  less  in  the  West  than 
in  the  East.  This  is  plain  when  we  consider  that  the 
Jewish  prophets  seem  tc  have  been  accepted  by  the 
whole  nation,  and  that  when  thus  accepted  it  was  con- 


88 


ECCE  HOMO. 


sidered  presumption  to  deny  anydiing  that  they  had 
said.  On  the  other  hand,  no  one  in  the  West  ever 
reaches  such  an  eminence  as  to  have  no  detractors, 
and  we  are  all  bold  enough  to  doubt  what  is  said  even 
by  those  whom  we  reverence  most.  The  reason  of  this 
is  that  in  the  West  a  method  has  been  laid  down  which 
places  the  gifted  man  and  the  ungifted  in  some  degree 
on  a  level.  It  is  still,  no  doubt,  the  gifted  man  in  gen* 
eral  who  discovers  truth,  but  when  the  discovery  is 
made  the  ungifted  man  can  test  it  and  judge  of  it. 
Whereas  it  would  appear  that  where  the  processes  of 
thought  have  never  been  analyzed  and  reduced  to 
method,  there  is  no  means  of  discovering  the  error  of 
a  gifted  man,  except  through  the  emphatic  contradic¬ 
tion  of  one  who  has  won  the  reputation  of  being  more 
gifted. 

It  follows  from  this  that  when  Christian  theology 
passed  into  the  Gentile  world,  when  it  diffused  itself 
from  the  Mosaic  East  into  the  Socratic  West,  it  must 
have  encountered  a  new  difficulty.  The  Jew  who 
listened  to  Christ  had  been  educated  to  rest  in  author¬ 
ity.  He  had  believed  in  all  that  Moses  had  taught,  in 
all  that  Isaiah  had  taught,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  con¬ 
vinced  that  Christ  was  greater  than  Moses  and  Isaiah, 
he  submitted  with  the  same  deference  to  his  authority, 
and  accepted  all  that  Christ  taught.  When  the  life  of 
Christ  was  put  before  the  Greek,  it  affected  him  to  a 
certain  extent  as  it  had  done  the  Jew.  He  was  seized 
with  admiration  and  reverence.  He  regarded  him  as 
a  divine  man,  and  placed  him  first  by  the  side  of  Or¬ 
pheus  and  Pythagoras,  and  in  the  end  above  both. 
But  this  veneration  did  not  imply  the  same  absolute 


MEMBERSHIP  IN  CHRIST’S  KINGDOM. 


89 


devotion  of  the  intellect  which  it  had  invoked  in  the 
case  of  the  Jew.  For  the  Greek  had  other  methods 
of  arriving  at  truth  besides  imbibing  it  directly  from 
the  lips  of  wise  men.  He  had  a  logic  in  which  he 
had  great  confidence,  and  which  had  already  led  him 
to  certain  definite  conclusions.  If  these  conclusions 
should  be  at  war  with  those  authoritatively  announced 
by  Christ?  Here  was  a  difficulty  at  the  very  begin* 
ning,  and  in  the  course  of  time  this  difficulty  has  in¬ 
creased.  The  scientific  methods  laid  down  at  first  in 
Greece  have  been  improved,  and  applied  with  such 
success  that  their  credit  is  greatly  risen.  Men  may 
still  be  disposed  to  believe  in  Christ’s  infallible  wis¬ 
dom,  but  their  minds  are  now  accustomed  to  work 
with  great  freedom  upon  all  subjects,  to  have  more 
respect  for  reasoning  than  for  authority,  and  almost  to 
deny  knowledge  to  be  knowledge  when  it  rests  only 
upon  hearsay,  and  is  not  verified  to  the  mind  itself  by 
demonstration,  or  at  least  probable  evidence.  Accus¬ 
tomed  to  test  and  weigh  everything,  and  trained  in  the 
practice  of  suspending  the  judgment,  they  become  not 
so  much  unwilling  as  positively  unable  to  receive  a 
proposition  merely  because  it  is  authoritatively  de¬ 
livered. 

Such  are  some  of  the  difficulties  of  Christian  belief. 
We  conclude  that  though  it  is  always  easy  for  thought¬ 
less  men  to  be  orthodox,  yet  to  grasp  with  any  strong 
practical  apprehension  the  theology  of  Christ  is  a 
thing  as  hard  as  to  practise  his  moral  law.  Yet  if  lie 
meant  anything  by  his  constant  denunciation  of  hypo¬ 
crites,  there  is  nothing  which  he  would  have  visited 
with  sterner  censure  than  that  short  cut  to  belief  which 


9° 


BCCE  HOMO. 


many  persons  take  when,  overwhelmed  with  the  diffi- 
culties  which  beset  their  minds,  and  afraid  of  damna¬ 
tion,  they  suddenly  resolve  to  strive  no  longer,  but, 
giving  their  minds  a  holiday,  to  rest  content  with  say¬ 
ing  that  they  believe  and  acting  as  if  they  did.  A 
melancholy  end  of  Christianity  indeed  !  Can  there  be 
such  a  disfranchised  pauper  class  among  the  citizens 
of  the  New  Jerusalem? 

But  when  it  is  once  acknowledged  that  to  attain  a 
full  and  firm  belief  in  Christ’s  theology  is  hard,  then  it 
follows  at  once  that  a  man  may  be  a  Christian  with¬ 
out  it.  It  has  been  shown  that  the  first  of  all  require¬ 
ments  made  from  the  earliest  Christians  was  faith,  a 
loyal  and  free  confidence  in  Christ.  This  was  what 
made  the  difference  between  them  and  the  careless 
crowd  or  the  hostile  Pharisee  —  that  to  them  Christ 
was  a  beloved  Master  and  friend.  But  this  faith,  if 
they  had  it  but  as  a  grain  of  mustard-seed,  must  have 
assured  them  that  it  was  not  in  his  character  to  exact 
of  them  what  it  was  beyond  their  power  to  render, 
and  to  expect  them  at  once  to  grasp  truths  which  it 
might  well  take  them  all  their  lives  to  learn.  And  did 
he  as  a  matter  of  fact  do  so  ?  Do  we  find  him  fre¬ 
quently  examining  his  followers  in  their  creed,  and 
rejecting  one  as  a  sceptic  and  another  as  an  infidel  ? 
Sceptics  they  were  all,  so  long  as  he  was  among  them, 
a  society  of  doubters,  attaining  to  faith  only  at  inter¬ 
vals  and  then  falling  back  again  into  uncertainty. 
And  from  their  Master  they  received  reproofs  for  this, 
but  reproofs  tenderly  expressed,  not  dry  threats  nor 
cold  dismission.  Assuredly  those  who  represent 
Christ  as  presenting  to  men  an  abstruse  theology,  and 


MEMBERSHIP  IN  CHRIST’S  KINGDOM.  91 

saying  to  them  peremptorily,  4  Believe  or  be  damned,’ 
have  the  coarsest  conception  of  the  Saviour  of  the 
world.  He  will  reject,  he  tells  us,  those  who  refuse 
to  clothe  the  naked  or  tend  the  sick,  those  whose 
lamps  have  gone  out,  those  who  have  buried  their 
talents,  not  those  whose  minds  are  poorly  furnished 
with  theological  knowledge.  Incredulity  and  uncer¬ 
tainty,  as  long  as  it  seemed  honest,  he  always  treated 
with  kind  consideration ;  and  so  disposed  was  he  to 
the  largest  tolerance  that  on  one  occasion  he  refused 
to  condemn  one  who,  showing  some  respect  for  his 
character,  yet  disobeyed  his  first  and  most  peremptory 
law  —  namely,  that  which  commanded  all  persons  to 
follow  and  attach  themselves  to  him.  And  on  this 
occasion  he  uttered  words  which  breathe  that  con¬ 
tempt  for  forms  and  that  respect  for  what  is  substan¬ 
tial  which  is  the  unfailing  mark  of  a  commanding 
spirit  — 4  he  that  is  not  against  us  is  on  our  part.’ 

To  what  conclusion,  then,  are  we  led  by  these  re¬ 
flections  upon  the  question  of  this  chapter  —  the  ques¬ 
tion,  namely,  what  was  involved  in  accepting  Christ’s 
call.  Those  who  gathered  round  him  did  in  the  first 
place  contract  an  obligation  of  personal  loyalty  to  him. 
On  the  ground  of  this  loyalty  he  proceeded  to  form 
them  into  a  society,  and  to  promulgate  an  elaborate 
legislation,  comprising  and  intimately  connected  with 
certain  declarations,  authoritatively  delivered,  concern¬ 
ing  the  nature  of  God,  the  relation  of  man  to  him,  and 
the  invisible  world.  In  doing  so  he  assumed  the  part 
of  a  Moses.  Now  the  legislation  of  Moses  had  been 
absolutely  binding  upon  the  whole  community.  Dis¬ 
obedience  to  his  laws  had  been  punished  by  the  civil 


9^ 


ECCE  HOMO. 


judge,  and  so  had  every  act  which  implied  a  concep¬ 
tion  of  the  Divine  Nature  different  from  that  which  he 
had  prescribed.  The  new  Moses,  we  have  seen,  had 
no  civil  judges  to  enforce  his  legislation,  but  he  repre¬ 
sented  his  unfaithful  servants  as  being  liable  to  prose¬ 
cution  before  the  tribunals  of  the  invisible  world.  He 
described  those  tribunals  as  passing  capital  sentences 
upon  some  criminals,  and  dismissing  them,  as  he  ex¬ 
pressed  it,  into  4  the  outer  darkness’  — that  is,  beyond 
the  pomcerium  of  that  sacred  city  which  is  lighted  by 
the  glory  of  God.  These  are  the  traitors  to  the  The¬ 
ocracy  who  have  broken  its  essential  obligations. 
Who  then  are  they?  And  what  are  these  essential 
obligations  ? 

Under  the  Mosaic  law,  as  under  all  secular  codes, 
certain  definite  acts  were  regarded  as  unpardonable. 
Moses  punished  the  dishonoring  of  parents  and  idola¬ 
try  with  death,  i.  e.  absolute  exclusion.  Now  in  this 
respect  the  new  Moses  is  infinitely  more  tolerant. 
There  are  no  specific  acts  which  are  unpardonable  to 
the  Christian.  No  amount  of  disobedience  which  can 
be  named,  no  amount  of  disbelief  or  ignorance  of  doc¬ 
trine,  is  sufficient  to  deprive  a  man  of  the  name  of 
Christian.  For  it  is  held  in  the  Christian  Church  that 
the  man  most  stained  with  crime,  and  even  most  un¬ 
successful  in  breaking  himself  of  criminal  habits,  and 
in  the  same  manner  the  man  whose  speculative  notions 
are  most  erroneous  or  despairing,  may  yet  possess 
that  rudiment  of  goodness  which  Christ  called  faith. 
But,  on  another  side,  the  new  Moses  is  infinitely  more 
exacting  than  the  old.  For  the  most  blameless  obser¬ 
vance  of  the  whole  law  is  not  enough  to  save  the 


MEMBERSHIP  IN  CHRIST’S  KINGDOM.  93 

Christian  from  exclusion,  unless  it  has  actually  sprung 
from  genuine  goodness.  It  may  spring  from  natural 
caution  or  long-sighted  selfishness,  and  in  the  heart  of 
the  strict  moralist  there  maybe  no  spark  of  faith.  For 
such  a  moralist  Christ  has  no  mercy.  And  so  it  be 
came  a  maxim  in  the  Christian  Church  that  faith  jus¬ 
tifies  a  man  without  the  deeds  of  the  law. 

Faith  was  described  above  as  no  proper  Christian 
virtue,  but  as  that  which  was  required  of  a  man  before 
he  became  a  Christian.  This  virtue  was  to  be  taken 
by  Christ  and  trained  by  his  legislation  and  theology 
into  something  far  riper  and  higher.  But  if  the  train¬ 
ing  should  through  untoward  circumstances  almost 
entirely  fail,  and  faith  remain  a  scarcely  developed 
principle,  bearing  fruit  but  seldom  and  fitfully  in 
action  —  never  is  inconceivable  —  still  in  the  Christian 
view  it  is  life  to  the  soul,  and  the  faithful  soul,  how¬ 
ever  undeveloped,  is  at  home  within  the  illuminated 
circle,  and  not  in  the  outer  darkness 


94 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BAPTISM. 

WE  have  before  us  the  new  Moses  surrounded  by 
those  who  are  waiting  to  receive  from  his  lips 
the  institutions  of  a  new  Theocracy.  They  have  been 
gathered  out  of  the  nation  ;  they  form  the  elect  part 
of  it.  But  no  constraint  has  been  used  in  enlisting 
some  and  rejecting  others.  Those  are  here  in  whose 
hearts  there  is  something  which  answers  to  such  a 
trumpet-call  as  that  which  John  and  Christ  had  caused 
to  resound  through  the  land.  Those  whose  lives  are 
sunk  in  routine,  and  no  longer  capable  of  aspiring  or 
willing  or  believing,  are  not  here.  But  among  the 
followers  of  the  Legislator  there  is  but  one  common 
quality.  All,  except  a  very  few  adventurers  who 
have  joined  him  under  a  mistake  and  will  soon  with¬ 
draw,  have  some  degree  of  what  he  calls  faith.  All 
look  up  to  him,  trust  in  him,  are  prepared  to  obey 
him  and  to  sacrifice  something  for  him.  He  requires 
no  more.  This  is  a  valid  title  to  citizenship  in  the 
Theocracy.  But  in  habits  and  character  they  differ  as 
much  as  the  individuals  in  any  other  crowd.  Some 
are  sunk  in  vice,  others  lead  blameless  lives ;  some 
have  cultivated  minds,  others  are  rude  peasants  ;  some 
offer  to  Jehovah  prayers  conceived  in  the  style  of  Pie- 
brew  psalmists  and  prophets,  others  worship  some 


BAPTISM. 


95 


monstrous  idol  of  the  terrified  imagination  or  passion¬ 
less  abstraction  of  philosophy.  It  is  the  object  of  the 
society  into  which  this  motley  crowd  are  now  gathered 
gradually  to  elevate  each  member  of  it,  to  cure  him 
of  vice,  to  soften  his  rudeness,  to  deliver  him  from  the 
dominion  of  superstitious  fears  or  intellectual  conceits* 
But  this  is  the  point  towards  which  the  society  tends, 
not  that  with  which  it  begins.  The  progress  of  each 
citizen  towards  this  perfection  will  bear  pioportion  to 
his  natural  organization,  to  the  force  with  which  the 
influences  of  the  society  are  brought  to  bear  upon 
him,  and  to  the  stage  of  enlightenment  from  which  he 
starts.  With  some  it  will  be  rapid,  with  others  so 
slow  as  to  be  almost  imperceptible.  But  the  first  pro¬ 
pelling  power,  the  indispensable  condition  of  progress, 
is  the  personal  relation  of  loyal  vassalage  of  the  citizen 
to  the  Prince  of  the  Theocracy. 

The  test  of  this  loyalty  lay,  as  we  have  seen,  in  the 
mere  fact  that  a  man  was  prepared  to  attach  himself 
to  Christ’s  person  and  obey  his  commands,  though  by 
doing  so  some  risk  and  some  sacrifice  was  incurred. 
Christ,  however,  did  not  retain  every  one  who  accept¬ 
ed  the  Call  about  his  person  ;  some  he  dismissed  to 
their  homes,  laying  upon  them  no  burdensome  com¬ 
mands.  It  was  necessary  therefore  that  some  mark 
should  be  devised  by  which  the  follower  of  Christ 
might  be  distinguished,  and  by  consenting  to  bear 
which  he  might  give  proof  of  his  loyalty.  Some 
initiatory  rite  was  necessar) ,  some  public  formality,  in 
which  the  new  volunteer  might  take,  as  it  were,  the 
military  oath  and  confess  his  chief  before  men.  If 
such  a  ceremony  could  be  devised,  which  should  a! 


9  6 


ECCE  HOMO. 


the  same  time  indicate  that  the  new  votary  had  taken 
upon  himself  not  merely  a  new  service  but  an  entirely 
new  mode  of  life,  it  would  be  so  much  the  better. 
Now  there  was  already  in  use  among  the  Jews  the  rite 
of  baptism.  It  was  undergone  by  those  who  became 
proselytes  to  Judaism.  Such  proselytes  signified  by 
submitting  to  it  that  they  passed  out  of  their  secular 
life  into  the  dedicated  life  of  citizens  in  a  Theocracy. 
I  he  water  in  which  they  were  bathed  washed  away 
from  them  the  whole  unhallowed  and  unprofitable 
past ;  they  rose  out  of  it  new  men  into  a  new  world, 
and  felt  as  though  death  were  behind  them  and  they 
had  been  born  again  into  a  higher  state.  No  cere¬ 
mony  could  be  better  adapted  to  Christ’s  purpose  than 
this.  It  was  already  in  use,  and  had  acquired  a  mean 
i.ng  and  associations  which  were  universally  under¬ 
stood.  By  calling  upon  all  alike,  Jews  as  well  as 
Gentiles,  to  submit  to  it,  Christ  would  intimate  that 
he  did  not  merely  revive  the  old  Theocracy  but  insti¬ 
tuted  a  new  one,  so  that  the  children  of  Abraham 
themselves,  members  of  a  theocracy  from  their  birth, 
had  a  past  to  wash  away  and  a  new  life  to  begin,  not 
less  than  the  unsanctified  Gentile.  And  at  the  same 
time,  being  publicly  performed,  it  would  serve  as  well 
as  any  other  rite  to  test  the  loyalty  of  the  new  recruit 
and  his  readiness  to  be  known  by  his  Master’s  name. 

This  ceremony,  then,  Christ  adopted,  and  he  made 
it  absolutely  binding  upon  all  his  followers  to  submit 
to  it.  In  the  fourth  Gospel  there  is  a  story  which 
illustrates  in  the  most  striking  manner  the  importance 
which  Christ  attached  to  baptism.  A  man  of  ad¬ 
vanced  years  and  influential  position,  named  Nicode- 


BAPTISM. 


97 


mus,  visited  Christ,  we  are  told,  in  secret,  and  entered 
into  conversation  with  him.  He  began  by  an  explicit 
avowal  of  belief  in  Christ’s  divine  mission.  What  he 
would  have  gone  on  to  say  we  may  conjecture  from 
these  two  facts,  namely,  that  he  believed  in  Christ, 
and  that  nevertheless  he  visited  him  secretly.  It 
appears  that  he  hoped  to  comply  with  Christ’s  de- 
-mand  of  personal  homage  and  submission,  but  to  be 
excused  from  making  a  public  avowal  of  it.  And 
when  we  consider  the  high  position  of  Nicodemus,  it 
is  natural  to  suppose  that  he.  hoped  to  receive  such  a 
special  exemption  in  consideration  of  the  services  he 
had  it  in  his  power  to  render.  He  could  push  the 
movement  among  the  influential  classes ;  he  could 
cautiously  dispose  the  Pharisaic  sect  to  a  coalition 
with  Christ  on  the  ground  of  their  common  national 
and  theocratic  feeling ;  he  might  become  a  useful 
friend  in  the  metropolis,  and  might  fight  against  the 
prejudice  which  a  provincial  and  Galilasan  party  could 
not  but  excite.  These  advantages  Christ  would  se¬ 
cure  by  allowing  Nicodemus  to  become  a  secret  mem¬ 
ber  of  his  Theocracy,  and  by  excusing  him,  until  a 
better  opportunity  should  present  itself,  from  publicly 
undergoing  the  rite  of  baptism.  On  the  other  hand, 
by  insisting  upon  this  he  would  at  once  destroy  all  the 
influence  of  Nicodemus  with  the  authorities  of  Jeru¬ 
salem,  and  with  it  all  his  power  of  becoming  a  nursing 
father  to  the  infant  Church.  When  we  consider  the 
gieat  contempt  which  Christ  constantly  expressed  for 
forms  and  ceremonies,  and  in  particular  for  those 
‘washings’  which  were  usual  among  the  Pharisees, 
we  are  prepared  to  find  him  readily  acceding  to  the 

5 


9S 


ECCK  HOMO. 


request  of  Nicodemus,  Instead  of  which  he  shut  the 
petitioner’s  mouth  by  an  abrupt  declaration  that  there 
was  no  way  into  the  Theocracy  but  through  baptism. 
The  kingdom  of  God,  he  insisted,  though  it  had  no 
locality  and  no  separation  from  die  secular  states  of 
mankind,  though  it  had  no  law-courts,  no  lictors  and 
no  fasces,  was  yet  a  true  state.  Men  were  not  to  make 
a  light  thing  of  entering  it,  to  give  their  names  to  the 
Founder  at  a  secret  interview,  and  immediately  return 
to  their  accustomed  places  of  resort  and  take  up  the 
routine  of  secular  life  where  it  had  been  left.  Those 
who  would  enroll  themselves  among  the  citizens  of  it 
were  to  understand  that  they  began  their  life  anew,  as 
truly  as  if  they  had  been  born  again.  And  lest  the 
Divine  Society,  in  its  contempt  for  material  bounda¬ 
ries  and  for  the  distinctness  which  is  given  by  unity  of 
place,  should  lose  its  distinctness  altogether  and  degen¬ 
erate  into  a  theory  or  a  sentiment  or  a  devout  imagina¬ 
tion,  the  initiatory  rite  of  baptism,  with  its  publicity 
and  formality,  was  pronounced  as  indispensable  to 
membership  as  that  spiritual  inspiration  which  is 
membership  itself. 

Baptism  being  thus  indispensable,  we  may  be  sur¬ 
prised  to  find  it  so  seldom  mentioned  in  the  accounts 
of  Christ’s  life.  We  do  not  read,  for  example,  of  the 
baptism  of  his  principal  disciples.  But  it  is  to  be 
I'emembered  that  the  rite  of  baptism,  though  used  by 
Christ,  was  not  introduced  by  him,  and  that  he  recog¬ 
nized  the  Theocracy  as  having  begun  to  exist  in  a 
rudimentary  form  before  his  own  public  appearance. 
The  work  of  John  was  merged  in  that  of  Christ  as  a 
rKer  in  the  sea,  but  Christ  regards  those  who  had 


BAPTISM. 


99 


received  John’s  baptism  as  being  already  members  of 
the  Theocracy.  Since  the  time  of  John,  he  says,  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  suffered!  violence,  and  the  violent 
take  it  by  force.  Now  Christ’s  first  followers  were 
likely  to  be  drawn  from  John’s  circle  ;  partly  because 
John  himself  directed  his  followers  to  Christ,  partly 
because  those  who  were  affected  by  the  eloquence  of 
the  one  prophet  were  naturally  formed  to  fall  under 
the  influence  of  the  other.  That  the  fact  actually  was 
so  is  attested  by  our  biographies,  which  distinctly 
speak  of  Christ  as  finding  his  earliest  disciples  in  the 
neighborhood  and  among  the  followers  of  the  Baptist. 
This  being  the  case,  we  may  presume  that  the  bulk  of 
the  first  Christians  received  baptism  from  John,  and 
found  themselves  already  enrolled  in  a  Society,  the 
objects  of  which  neither  they  nor  perhaps  the  Baptist 
himself  clearly  understood,  before  they  had  ever  seen 
the  face  of  Christ.  The  Acts  of  the  Apostles  affords 
many  proofs  that  the  first  Christians  regarded  John’s 
disciples  as  members  of  the  Church,  but  imperfectly 
instructed. 


IOO 


CHAPTER  IX. 

REFLECTIONS  ON  THE  NATURE  OF  CHRIST’S 

SOCIETY. 

OF  the  three  parts  into  which  our  investigation  is 
divided,  Christ’s  Call,  his  Legislation,  and  his 
Divine  Royalty  or  relation  to  Jehovah,  the  first  is  now 
completed.  We  have  considered  the  nature  of  the 
Call,  its  difference  from  that  which  was  given  to 
Abraham,  the  means  which  were  taken  to  procure  a 
body  of  men  such  as  might  suitably  form  the  founda¬ 
tion  of  a  new  and  unique  Commonwealth,  and  the 
nature  of  the  obligations  they  incurred  in  accepting 
the  Call  :  xod’  r\8rj  x&v  xqi(bv  Tiahuoju&TOJV . 

But  before  we  proceed  to  consider  Christ’s  Legisla¬ 
tion,  it  will  be  well  to  linger  a  while  and  reflect  on 
what  we  have  learnt.  Having  ascertained  so  far  what 
Christ  undertook  to  do  and  did,  it  will  be  well  to  com¬ 
pare  it  with  other  similar  schemes  and  to  form  some 
opinion  upon  the  success  it  was  likely  to  meet  with. 

Let  us  ask  ourselves  what  was  the  ultimate  object  of 
Christ’s  scheme.  When  the  Divine  Society  was  estab¬ 
lished  and  organized,  what  did  he  expect  it  to  accom¬ 
plish?  To  the  question  we  may  suppose  he  would 
have  answered,  The  object  of  the  Divine  Society  is 
that  God’s  will  may  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  done  in 
heaven.  In  the  language  of  our  own  day,  its  object 
was  the  improvement  of  morality.  Now  this  is  no 


NATURE  OF  CHRIST’S  SOCIETY. 


lOl 


strange  or  unusual  object.  Many  schemes  have  been 
proposed  for  curing  human  nature  of  its  vices  and 
helping  it  to  right  thought  and  right  action.  We  have 
now  before  us  the  outline  of  Christ’s  scheme,  and  are 
in  a  condition  to  compare  it  with  some  others  that 
have  had  the  same  object,  and  by  so  doing  to  discover 
in  what  its  peculiarity  consists.  Now  there  k  one 
large  class  of  such  schemes  with  which  mankind  rave 
occupied  themselves  diligently  for  many  centuries,  and 
which  for  the  purpose  of  comparison  with  Christianity 
may  be  treated  as  a  single  scheme.  Ever  since  the 
time  of  Socrates  philosophy  has  occupied  itself  with 
the  same  problem  ;  it  has  been  one  of  the  principal 
boasts  of  philosophy  that  it  teaches  virtue  and  weeds 
vice  out  of  the  mind.  At  the  present  day  those  who 
reject  Christianity  commonly  represent  that  in  ad¬ 
vanced  civilization  it  gives  place  naturally  to  moral 
philosophy.  Their  belief  is  that  the  true  and  only 
method  of  making  men  good  is  by  philosophy ;  and 
that  the  good  influence  of  Christianity  in  past  ages 
has  been  dae  to  the  truths  of  moral  philosophy  which 
are  blended  in  it  with  superstitions  which  the  world 
in  its  progress  is  leaving  behind. 

Of  course  there  have  been  a  multitude  of  systems 
of  moral  philosophy,  which  have  differed  from  each 
other  in  a  considerable  degree,  but  they  have  all 
resembled  each  other  in  being  philosophy.  For  the 
present  purpose  their  differences  are  not  important ; 
the  important  thing  is  that  there  have  been  two  con¬ 
spicuous  attempts  to  improve  mankind  morally  —  the 
one  by  moral  philosophy,  the  other  by  means  of  the 
Chiistian  Church.  Now,  as  nothing  assists  concep* 


ro2 


ECCE  HOMO. 


tion  so  much  as  comparison,  and  it  is  hardly  possil  le 
to  understand  anything  properly  without  putting  it  b)’ 
the  side  of  something  else,  we  may  expect  to  gain 
some  insight  into  Christ’s  method  of  curing  human 
nature  by  comparing  it  with  that  of  the  philosophers. 

At  the  first  glance  the  two  methods  may  seem  to 
bear  a  strong  resemblance,  and  we  may  suspect  that 
the  difference  between  them  is  superficial,  and  not 
more  than  is  readily  accounted  for  by  the  difference 
between  manners  and  modes  of  thought  in  Greece  and 
Palestine.  It  may  seem  to  us  that  Socrates  and  Christ 
were  in  fact  occupied  in  the  same  way  ;  certainly  both 
lived  in  the  midst  of  admiring  disciples,  whose  minds 
and  characters  were  formed  by  their  words  ;  both  dis¬ 
cussed  moral  questions,  the  one  with  methodical  rea¬ 
soning  as  a  Greek  addressing  Greeks,  the  other  with 
the  authoritative  tone  and  earnestness  of  a  Jew. 
There  may  seem  here  at  first  sight  a  substantial  resem¬ 
blance  and  a  superficial  difference.  But  if  we  make  a 
more  careful  comparison,  we  shall  find  that  precisely 
the  contrary  is  true,  and  that  the  difference  is  really 
radical,  while  the  resemblance  is  accidental.  It  is 
true  that  Socrates,  like  Christ,  formed  a  sort  of  soci¬ 
ety,  and  that  the  successors  of  Socrates  formed  socie¬ 
ties,  which  lasted  several  centuries,  the  Academy,  the 
Porch,  the  Garden.  But  these  philosophical  societies 
merely  existed  for  convenience.  No  necessary  tie 
bound  the  members  of  them  together.  As  the  teacher 
had  but  one  tongue  and  but  one  lifetime,  it  was  obvi¬ 
ously  better  that  he  should  take  his  pupils  in  large 
numbers,  or,  as  it  were,  in  classes,  rather  than  teach 
every  individual  separately,  and  tho  efore  before  the 


NATURE  OF  CHRISTAS  SOCIETY. 


103 


invention  of  the  printing-press  a  philosopher  usually 
gathered  a  society  round  him.  Doubtless,  when  this 
had  been  done,  a  certain  esprit  de  corps  sprang  up 
among  such  societies,  and  they  did,  in  special  cases, 
approximate  in  some  degree  to  churches.  But  that 
this  was  accidental,  and  not  in  the  original  design, 
appears  from  the  fact  that  since  the  great  diffusion  of 
books,  philosophers  have  almost  ceased  to  form  socie¬ 
ties,  and  content  themselves,  for  the  most  part,  with 
producing  conviction  in  the  minds  of  isolated  students 
by  published  writings.  If  Socrates  were  to  appear 
at  the  present  day  he  would  hardly  bear  that  resem¬ 
blance  to  Christ  which  he  bore  at  Athens.  He  would 
form  no  society. 

Now  it  was  not  from  accident  or  for  convenience 
that  Christ  formed  a  society.  Nor  were  his  followers 
merely  united  by  the  common  desire  to  hear  him 
speak,  and  afterwards  by  the  friendly  feelings  that 
grew  out  of  intimacy.  We  have  seen  already,  and 
shall  see  yet  more  clearly  in  the  sequel,  that  to  organ¬ 
ize  a  society,  and  to  bind  the  members  of  it  together 
by  the  closest  ties,  were  the  business  of  his  life.  For 
this  reason  it  was  that  he  called  men  away  from  their 
homes,  imposed  upon  some  a  wandering  life,  upon 
others  the  sacrifice  of  their  property,  and  endeavored 
bv  alt  means  to  divorce  them  from  their  former  con 
nections  in  order  that  they  might  find  a  new  home  in 
the  Church.  For  this  reason  he  instituted  a  solemn 
initiation,  and  for  this  reason  refused  absolutely  to 
give  to  any  one  a  dispensation  from  it.  For  this  rea¬ 
son  too,  as  we  shall  see,  he  established  a  common 
feast,  which  was  through  all  ages  to  remind  Christians 


ID4 


ECCE  HOMO. 


of  their  indissoluble  union.  Thus  although  the  term 
disciples  or  learners  is  applied  in  our  biographies  to 
the  followers  of  Christ,  yet  we  should  not  suffer  this 
phrase  to  remind  us  of  a  philosophical  school.  Learn¬ 
ers  they  might  be,  but  they  loved  better  to  speak  of 
themselves  as  subjects  or  even  ‘  slaves’  of  Jesus  Christ, 
and  to  each  other  he  exhorted  them  to  be  as  brothers. 

Thus  the  resemblance  between  Christ  and  the  an¬ 
cient  philosophers  vanishes  on  examination.  He  was 
the  founder  of  a  society  to  which  for  a  time  he  found 
it  useful  to  give  instruction  ;  they  gave  instruction  to 
pupils  who  found  it  convenient  to  form  themselves 
into  a  society  for  the  sake  of  receiving  it.  Hence  it 
was  that  while  they  assumed  a  name  derived  from  the 
wisdom  they  possessed  and  communicated,  and  were 
called  philosophers,  he  took  his  title  from  the  commu¬ 
nity  he  founded  and  ruled,  and  called  himself  King. 
But  as  the  obvious  resemblance  between  Christ  and 
such  a  philosopher  as  Socrates  vanishes  on  examina¬ 
tion,  so  we  shall  find  that  the  obvious  difference  be¬ 
tween  them  —  namely,  that  the  one  used  reasoning 
and  the  other  authority  —  appears  upon  examination 
to  be  radical  and  fundamental.  It  was  the  perpetual 
object  of  Socrates  as  much  as  possible  to  sink  his  own 
personality.  He  wished  his  arguments  to  have  all  the 
weight  they  might  deserve,  and  his  authority  to  count 
for  nothing.  Those  who  have  considered  the  meaning 
of  his  famous  irony  know  that  it  was  not  by  any  means 
what  such  a  writer  as  Cicero  supposes,  a  humorous 
device  to  make  his  conversation  more  racy  and  the 
confutation  of  his  adversaries  more  unexpected  and 
decisive.  He  professed  to  know  nothing  because  he 


NATURE  OF  CHRIST’S  SOCIETY.  IO<j 

wished  to  exalt  his  method  at  his  own  expense.  He 
wanted  to  give  men  not  truths  but  a  power  of  arriving 
at  truths,  and  therefore  what  he  found  it  most  neces 
sary  to  avoid  was  the  tendency  of  his  hearers  to  adopt 
his  conclusions  out  of  mere  admiration  for  his  wisdom 
and  love  for  his  person  rather  than  rational  convict:on. 
By  his  determined  and  consistent  abstinence  from  all 
dogmatic  assertion  he  gradually  trained  men  to  believe 
in  a  method  which,  if  only  carefully  used,  discovered 
truth  or  verified  it  as  surely,  within  certain  limitations, 
in  the  hands  of  an  ordinary  man  as  in  those  of  a  sage. 
Deservedly  he  gained  the  greatest  personal  admiration, 
but  his  highest  claim  to  it  was  the  trouble  he  took  to 
avoid  it,  and  the  tenacity  with  which  he  labored  to  set 
the  tranquil  and  methodical  operations  of  the  intellect 
in  the  search  of  truth  above  the  blind  impulses  of  feel¬ 
ing  and  personal  admiration. 

Now  in  all  this  we  find  Christ  at  the  very  opposite 
extreme.  As  with  Socrates  argument  is  everything 
and  personal  authority  nothing,  so  with  Christ  per¬ 
sonal  authority  is  all  in  all  and  argument  altogether 
unemployed.  As  Socrates  is  never  tired  of  depreci¬ 
ating  himself  and  dissembling  his  own  superiority  to 
those  with  whom  he  converses,  so  Christ  perpetually 
and  consistently  exalts  himself.  As  Socrates  firmly 
denies  what  all  admit,  and  explains  away  what  the 
oracle  had  announced,  viz.  his  own  superior  wisdom, 
so  Christ  steadfastly  asserts  what  many  were  not  pre¬ 
pared  to  admit,  viz.  his  own  absolute  superiority  to  all 
men  and  his  natural  title  to  universal  royalty.  The 
same  contrast  appears  in  the  requirements  they  made 
of  their  followers.  Socrates  cared  nothing  what  those 

5  * 


ECCE  HOMO. 


EOO 

whom  he  conversed  with  thought  of  him  ;  he  would 
bear  any  amount  of  rudeness  from  them  ;  but  he  cai  ed 
very  much  about  the  subject  of  discussion  and  about 
obtaining  a  triumph  for  his  method.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  one  thing  which  Christ  required  was  a  cer¬ 
tain  personal  attachment  to  himself,  a  fidelity  or 
loyalty ;  and  so  long  as  they  manifested  this,  he  was 
m  no  haste  to  deliver  their  minds  from  speculative 
error. 

We  may  be  sure  that  so  marked  a  contrast  does  not 
arise  merely  from  the  difference  between  a  Semitic  and 
European  mind.  The  truth  is  that  as  the  resemblance 
between  the  earliest  Christian  Church  and  a  philo¬ 
sophical  school  is  delusive,  so  is  the  resemblance  be¬ 
tween  Christ  himself  and  any  Greek  philosopher. 
Christ  had  a  totally  different  object  and  used  totally 
different  means  from  Socrates.  The  resemblance  is, 
no  doubt,  at  first  sight  striking.  Both  were  teachers, 
both  were  prodigiously  influential,  both  suffered  mar¬ 
tyrdom.  But  if  we  examine  these  points  of  resem¬ 
blance  we  shall  see  that  martyrdom  was,  as  it  were, 
an  accident  of  the  life  of  Socrates,  and  teaching  in  a 
great  degree  an  accident  of  Christ’s,  and  that  their  in¬ 
fluence  upon  men  has  been  of  a  totally  different  kind 
-  -  that  of  Socrates  being  an  intellectual  influence  upon 
thought,  that  of  Christ  a  personal  influence  upon  feel¬ 
ing.  What  real  student  of  Socrates  concerns  himself 
with  his  martyrdom?  It  is  an  impressive  page  of 
history,  but  the  importance  of  Socrates  to  men  has  no 
concern  with  it.  Had  he  died  in  his  bed  he  would 
still  have  been  the  creator  of  science.  On  the  other 
band,  if  we  isolate  Christ’s  teaching  from  his  life  we 


NATURE  OF  CHRIST’S  SOCIETY.  IQ? 

may  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  contains  little  that 
could  not  be  found  elsewhere,  and  found  accompanied 
with  reasoning  and  explanation.  Those  who  fix  their 
eyes  on  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  or  rather  on  the 
naked  propositions  which  it  contains,  and  disregard 
Christ’s  life,  his  cross,  and  his  resurrection,  commit 
the  same  mistake  in  studying  Christianity  that  the  stu¬ 
dent  of  Socratic  philosophy  would  commit  if  he  studied 
only  the  dramatic  story  of  his  death.  Both  Socrates 
and  Christ  uttered  remarkable  thoughts  and  lived  re¬ 
markable  lives.  But  Socrates  holds  his  place  in  his¬ 
tory  by  his  thoughts  and  not  by  his  life,  Christ  by  his 
life  and  not  by  his  thoughts. 

It  follows  that  it  is  a  mistake  to  regard  Christianity 
as  a  rudimentary  or  imperfect  moral  philosophy.  Phi¬ 
losophy  is  one  thing,  and  Christianity  quite  another. 
And  the  difference  between  them  lies  here  —  that 
philosophy  hopes  to  cure  the  vices  of  human  nature  by 
working  upon  the  head,  and  Christianity  by  educating 
the  heart.  The  philosopher  works  upon  the  man  in 
isolation,  though  he  may  for  convenience  assemble  his 
pupils  in  classes.  He  also  abstains  carefully  from 
biassing  his  feelings  by  any  personal  motives  and 
abjures  the  very  principle  of  authority,  making  it  his 
object  to  render  his  pupil  his  own  master,  to  put  him 
in  possession  of  a  rule  by  which  he  may  guide  his 
actions,  and  to  relieve  him  from  dependence  upon  any 
external  guardianship.  Christianity  abhors  isolation  ; 
it  gathers  men  into  a  society  and  binds  them  in  the 
closest  manner,  first  to  each  other,  and  next  to  Christ 
himself,  whom  it  represents  as  claiming  their  enthu¬ 
siastic  devotion  on  the  ground  of  gratitude,  and  as 


ECCE  HOMO. 


IO 8 

exhibiting  to  them  by  a  transcendent  example,  and  also 
incidentally  by  teaching,  but  rather  rhetorical  than 
scientific  teaching,  the  life  they  should  lead. 

Christianity,  then,  and  moral  philosophy  are  totally 
different  things,  and  yet  profess  to  have  the  same  ob¬ 
ject,  namely,  the  moral  improvement  of  mankind. 
This  being  the  case,  as  it  is  probable  that  they  are  not 
precisely  equally  adapted  to  attain  the  object,  it  would 
seem  tc  follow  that  one  of  the  two  is  unnecessary. 
But  on  consideration  we  shall  find  that  each  has  its 
function,  and  that  philosophy  undertakes  quite  another 
sort  of  moral  improvement  than  Christianity.  The 
difference  may  be  shortly  expressed  thus :  —  Both 
endeavor  to  lead  men  to  do  what  is  right,  but  philoso¬ 
phy  undertakes  to  explain  what  it  is  right  to  do,  while 
Christianity  undertakes  to  make  men  disposed  to  do  it. 
Wrong  actions  spring  from  two  causes  —  bad  moral 
dispositions,  and  intellectual  misapprehensions.  Good 
men  do  wrong  perpetually,  because  they  have  not  the 
mental  training  and  skill  which  may  enable  them  to 
discern  the  right  course  in  given  circumstances.  They 
have  good  impulses,  but  they  misconceive  the  facts 
before  them,  and  miscalculate  the  effect  of  actions. 
Their  intentions  are  right,  but  they  take  wrong  means 
of  carrying  them  out.  There  may  be  a  conflict  of 
good  impulses,  and  in  such  cases  one  at  least  must  re¬ 
main  unindulged.  Duty,  in  short,  as  it  presents  itself 
to  us,  is  a  very  complicated  matter.  To  do  it  with 
certainty  a  man  must  not  be  good  merely  but  wise, 
lie  must  have  reflected  deeply  on  human  affairs  and 
on  social  laws  ;  he  must  have  reduced  the  confusion 
of  good  feelings  which  exists  at  starting  in  the  well 


NATURE  OF  CHRIST^  SOCIETY. 


IO9 

disposed  mind  to  order  and  clearness.  This,  then,  is 
what  philosophy  undertakes  to  help  him  to  do. 

But  suppose  the  good  feelings  wanting  at  the  out* 
set.  What  will  it  avail  in  such  a  case  that  philoso¬ 
phy  should  point  out  the  right  course?  When  the 
man  whose  impulses  are  bad  has  plainly  understood 
by  the  aid  of  philosophy  which  is  the  right  course  and 
which  the  wrong,  what  will  he  do?  Clearly  he  will 
take  the  wu*ong.  Some  additional  machinery  is 
wanted  which  may  evoke  the  good  impulses,  cherish 
them,  and  make  them  masters  of  the  bad  ones.  If 
this  is  not  done,  what  avails  it  to  give  a  man  the 
knowdedge  of  what  is  right?  It  will  but  help  him  to 
avoid  it.  We  have  heard  of  a  fruit  which  gave  the 
knowledge  of  good,  but  it  was  4  knowledge  of  good 
bought  dear  by  knowing  ill.’ 

Now  this  machinery  is  what  Christ  undertakes  to 
supply.  Philosophers  had  drawn  their  pupils  from  the 
elite  of  humanity  ;  but  Christ  finds  his  material  among 
the  worst  and  meanest,  for  he  does  not  propose  merely 
to  make  the  good  better  but  the  bad  good.  And  what 
is  his  machinery  ?  He  says  the  first  step  towards  good 
dispositions  is  for  a  man  to  form  a  strong  personal 
attachment.  Let  him  first  be  drawn  out  of  himself. 
Next  let  the  object  of  that  attachment  be  a  person  of 
striking  and  conspicuous  goodness.  To  worship  such 
a  person  will  be  the  best  exercise  in  virtue  that  he  can 
have.  Let  him  vow  obedience  in  life  and  death  to 
such  a  person ;  let  him  mix  and  live  with  others  who 
have  made  the  same  vow.  He  will  have  ever  before 
his  eyes  an  ideal  of  what  he  may  himself  become. 
His  heart  will  be  stirred  by  new  feelings,  a  new  world 


I  I  o 


ECCE  HOMO. 


will  be  gradually  revealed  to  him,  and,  more  than 
this,  a  new  self  within  his  old  self  will  make  its  pres¬ 
ence  felt,  and  a  change  will  pass  over  him  which  he 
will  feel  it  most  appropriate  to  call  a  new  birth.  This 
is  Christ’s  scheme  stated  in  its  most  naked  form  ;  we 
shall  have  abundant  opportunities  in  the  sequel  of  ex¬ 
pounding  it  more  fully.  But  if  philosophy  undertakes 
to  solve  the  same  problem,  what  is  its  method?  By 
what  means  does  it  hope  to  awaken  good  impulses  in 
hearts  that  were  before  enslaved  to  bad  ones  ?  By 
eloquent  exhortation  perhaps,  or  by  the  examples  of 
life  led  philosophically.  Nay,  whatever  effect  these 
instruments  may  have,  they  are  instruments  of  the 
same  kind  as  those  of  Christianity.  Example  is  a 
personal  influence,  and  impassioned  eloquence  works 
upon  the  feelings.  If  we  are  to  exchange  Christianity 
for  these,  it  must  be  because  the  philosophers  can  put 
before  us  an  example  more  elevated  than  that  of 
Christ,  and  eloquence  more  impressive  than  that  of 
the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  Philosophy,  as  such, 
works  by  reasoning,  by  enlightening  the  mind,  by  ex¬ 
posing  miscalculations  and  revealing  things  as  they 
are.  Now  by  what  process  of  this  kind  can  the  bad 
man  be  turned  into  the  good?  Where  is  the  demon¬ 
stration  that  will  make  the  selfish  man  prefer  another’s 
interest  to  his  own?  Your  dialectic  may  force  him  to 
acknowledge  the  right  action,  but  where  is  the  dialectic 
that  shall  force  him  to  do  it?  Where  is  the  logical 
dilemma  that  can.  make  a  knave  honest  ? 

The  truth  is  that  philosophy  has  no  instruments  that 
it  can  use  for  this  purpose.  There  exists  no  other 
such  instrument  but  that  personal  one  of  which  Christ 


nature  of  Christ’s  society. 


i  1 1 


availed  himself.  And  this  personal  influence  it  is  the 
natural  operation  of  philosophy  in  some  degree  to 
counteract.  So  far  from  creating  good  impulses, 
philosophy  does  something  towards  paralyzing  and 
destroying  them.  For  perpetual  and  absorbing  mental 
activity  blunts  in  some  degree  those  feelings  in  which 
the  life  of  virtue  resides ;  at  the  same  time  it  creates 
a  habit  of  solitude,  and  solitude  is  the  death  of  all  but 
the  strongest  virtue.  But  the  philosopher  may  answer 
to  this  that  the  more  important  part  of  moral  in> 
provement  is  that  which  explains  to  us  what  it  is  right 
to  do,  and  that  good  impulses  are  provided  by  nature 
with  tolerable  impartiality  to  all.  He  may  think  that 
good  impulses  do  not  require  to  be  artificially  provid¬ 
ed,  or  that  they  cannot  be  provided  in  any  great  degree 
by  any  machinery.  Well !  it  is  a  question  of  fact 
His  own  experience  must  decide  it  for  each  person. 
Assuredly  there  are  vast  moral  differences  in  the 
people  we  meet,  and  we  are  able  for  the  most  part  to 
refer  those  differences  to  some  cause  or  other.  Let 
the  Christian  principle  be  compared  in  its  results  with 
the  philosophical  one ;  that  is,  let  the  virtue  which 
has  arisen  from  contact  and  personal  ties  with  the 
good  be  compared  with  that  which  is  the  unaided  fruit 
of  solitary  reflection.  Who  is  the  philosophic  good 
man?  He  is  one  who  has  considered  all  the  objects 
and  consequences  of  human  action ;  he  has,  in  the 
first  place,  perceived  that  there  is  in  him  a  principle 
of  sympathy,  the  due  development  of  which  demands 
that  he  should  habitually  consider  the  advantage  of 
others ;  he  has  been  led  by  reflection  to  perceive  that 
the  advantage  of  one  individual  may  often  involve  the 


r  12 


ECCE  HOMO. 


injury  of  several ;  he  has  thence  concluded  that  it  is 
necessary  to  lay  down  systematic  rules  for  his  actions 
lest  he  should  be  led  into  such  miscalculations,  and  he 
has  in  this  reasonable  and  gradual  manner  arrived  at 
a  system  of  morality.  This  is  the  philosophic  good 
man.  Do  we  find  the  result  satisfactory?  Do  we 
not  find  in  him  a  languid,  melancholic,  dull  and 
hard  temperament  of  virtue?  He  does  right  perhaps, 
but  without  warmth  or  promptitude.  And  no  won¬ 
der  !  The  principle  of  sympathy  was  feeble  in  him 
at  the  beginning  for  want  of  contact  with  those  who 
might  have  called  it  into  play,  and  it  has  been  made 
feebler  still  by  hard  brain-work  and  solitude.  He 
startles  us  at  times  by  sudden  immoralities  into  which 
he  is  betrayed  by  ingenuity  unchecked  by  healthy  feel¬ 
ing.  His  virtue  has  intermissions  and  fits  of  lassitude  ; 
he  becomes  guilty  of  small  transgressions  for  which  he 
hopes  to  compensate  by  works  of  easy  supererogation. 
Virtue  thus  exhibited  does  not  excite  in  the  beholder 
those  4  strange  yearnings  ’  of  devotion  of  which  Plato 
spoke.  No  one  loves  such  a  man ;  people  feel  for 
him  an  esteem  mixed  with  pity.  On  the  other  hand, 
who  is  the  good  man  that  we  admire  and  love  ?  How 
do  men  become  for  the  most  part  4  pure,  generous, 
and  humane  ’  ?  By  personal,  not  by  logical  influences. 
They  have  been  reared  by  parents  who  had  these  quali¬ 
ties,  they  have  lived  in  a  society  which  had  a  high 
tone,  they  have  been  accustomed  to  see  just  acts  done, 
to  hear  gentle  words  spoken,  and  the  justness  and  the 
gentleness  have  passed  into  their  hearts  and  slowly 
moulded  their  habits,  and  made  their  moral  discern¬ 
ment  clear ;  they  remember  commands  and  pro- 


NATURE  OF  CHRIST’S  SOCIETY.  II3 

hibitions  which  it  is  a  pleasure  to  obey  for  the  sake  of 
those  who  gave  them ;  often  they  think  of  those  who 
may  be  dead  and  say,  ‘  How  would  this  action 
appear  to  him?  Would  he  approve  that  word,  or 
disapprove  it?’  To  such  no  baseness  appears  a  small 
baseness  because  its  consequences  may  be  small,  nor 
■does  the  yoke  of  law  seem  burdensome  although  it  is 
ever  on  their  necks,  nor  do  they  dream  of  covering  a 
sin  by  an  atoning  act  of  virtue.  Often  in  solitude 
they  blush  when  some  impure  fancy  sails  across  the 
clear  heaven  of  their  minds,  because  they  are  never 
alone,  because  the  absent  Examples,  the  Authorities 
they  still  revere,  rule  not  their  actions  only  but  their 
inmost  hearts ;  because  their  conscience  is  indeed 
awake  and  alive,  representing  all  the  nobleness  with 
which  they  stand  in  sympathy,  and  reporting  their 
most  hidden  indecorum  before  a  public  opinion  of  the 
absent  and  the  dead. 

Of  these  two  influences  —  that  of  Reason  and  that 
of  Living  Example  —  which  would  a  wise  reformer 
reenforce?  Christ  chose  the  last.  He  gathered  all 
men  into  a  common  relation  to  himself,  and  demanded 
that  each  should  set  him  on  the  pedestal  of  his  heart, 
giving  a  lower  place  to  all  other  objects  of  worship, 
to  father  and  mother,  to  husband  or  wife.  In  him 
should  the  loyalty  of  all  hearts  centre,  he  should  be 
their  pattern,  their  Authority,  and  Judge.  Of  him 
and  his  service  should  no  man  be  ashamed,  but  to 
those  who  acknowledged  it  morality  should  be  an 
easy  yoke,  and  the  law  of  right  as  spontaneous  as  the 
law  of  life ;  sufferings  should  be  easy  to  bear,  and 
the  loss  of  worldly  friends  repaired  by  a  new  home  in 


£I4 


ECCE  HOMO. 


the  bosom  A  the  Christian  kingdom  ;  finally,  in  death 
itself  their  sleep  should  be  sweet  upon  whose  tomb¬ 
stone  it  could  be  written  4  Obdormivit  in  Christo d 


We  have  insisted  upon  the  effect  of  personal  influ¬ 
ence  in  creating  virtuous  impulses.  We  have  described 
Christ’s  Theocracy  as  a  great  attempt  to  set  all  the 
virtue  of  the  world  upon  this  basis,  and  to  give  it 
a  visible  centre  or  fountain.  But  we  have  used  gen¬ 
eralities.  It  is  advisable,  before  quitting  the  subject 
to  give  a  single  example  of  the  magical  passing  of 
virtue  out  of  the  virtuous  man  into  the  hearts  of  those 
with  whom  he  comes  in  contact.  A  remarkable  story 
which  appears  in  St.  John’s  biography,  though  it  is 
apparently  an  interpolation  in  that  place,  may  serve 
this  purpose,  and  will  at  the  same  time  illustrate  the 
difference  between  scholastic  or  scientific  and  living  or 
instinctive  virtue.  Some  of  the  leading  religious  men 
of  Jerusalem  had  detected  a  woman  in  adultery.  It 
occurred  to  them  that  the  case  afforded  a  good  oppor¬ 
tunity  of  making  an  experiment  upon  Christ.  They 
might  use  it  to  discover  how  he  regarded  the  Mosaic 
law<  That  he  was  heterodox  on  the  subject  of  that 
law  they  had  reason  to  believe,  for  he  had  openly 
quoted  some  Mosaic  maxims  and  declared  them  at 
least  incomplete,  substituting  for  them  new  rules  of 
his  own,  which  at  least  in  some  cases  appeared  to 
abrogate  the  old.  It  might  be  possible,  they  thought, 
by  means  of  this  woman  to  satisfy  at  once  themselves 
ard  the  people  of  his  heterodoxy.  They  brought  the 


NATURE  OF  CHRIST’S  SOCIETY.  1 1 5 

woman  before  him,  quoted  the  law  of  Moses  on  the 
subject  of  adultery,  and  asked  Christ  directly  whether 
he  agreed  with  the  lawgiver.  They  asked  for  his 
judgment. 

A  judgment  he  gave  them,  but  quite  different,  both 
in  matter  and  manner,  from  what  they  had  expected. 
In  thinking  of  the  4  case  ’  they  had  forgotten  the  wo¬ 
man,  they  had  forgotten  even  the  deed.  What  became 
of  tire  criminal  appeared  to  them  wholly  unimportant ; 
towards  her  crime  or  her  character  they  had  no  feeling 
whatever,  not  even  hatred,  still  less  pity  or  sympathetic 
shame.  If  they  had  been  asked  about  her,  they  might 
probabl}  have  answered,  with  Mephistopheles,  4  She 
is  not  the  first ;  ’  nor  would  they  have  thought  their 
answer  fiendish,  only  practical  and  business-like. 
Perhaps  they  might  on  reflection  have  admitted  that 
their  frame  of  mind  was  not  strictly  moral,  not  quite 
what  it  should  be,  that  it  would  have  been  better  if, 
besides  considering  the  legal  and  religious  questions 
involved,  they  could  have  found  leisure  for  some 
shame  at  the  scandal  and  some  hatred  for  the  sinner. 
But  they  would  have  argued  that  such  strict  propriety 
is  not  possible  in  this  world,  that  we  have  too  much 
on  our  hands  to  think  of  these  niceties,  that  the  man 
who  makes  leisure  for  such  refinements  will  find  his 
work  in  arrears  at  the  end  of  the  day,  and  probably 
also  that  he  is  doing  injustice  to  his  family  and  those 
dependent  on  him. 

This  they  might  fluently  and  plausibly  have  urged 
But  the  judgment  of  Christ  was  upon  them,  making 
all  tilings  seem  new,  and  shining  like  the  lightning 
from  the  one  end  of  heaven  to  the  other.  He  was 


ECCE  HOMO. 


1 1 6 

standing,  it  would  seem,  in  the  centre  of  a  circle, 
when  the  crime  was  narrated,  how  the  adultery  had 
been  detected  in  the  very  act .  The  shame  of  the 
deed  itself,  and  the  brazen  hardness  of  the  prosecu¬ 
tors,  the  legality  that  had  no  justice  and  did  not  even 
pretend  to  have  mercy,  the  religious  malice  that  could 
make  its  advantage  out  of  the  fall  and  ruin  and  igno¬ 
minious  death  of  a  fellow-creature  —  all  this  was  ea¬ 
gerly  and  rudety  thrust  before  his  mind  at  once.  The 
effect  upon  him  was  such  as  might  have  been  pro¬ 
duced  upon  many  since,  but  perhaps  upon  scarcely 
any  man  that  ever  lived  before.  He  was  seized  with 
an  intolerable  sense  of  shame.  He  could  not  meet  the 
eye  of  the  crowd,  or  of  the  accusers,  and  perhaps  at 
that  moment  least  of  all  of  the  woman.  Standing  as 
he  did  in  the  midst  of  an  eager  multitude  that  did  not 
in  the  least  appreciate  his  feelings,  he  could  not  es¬ 
cape.  In  his  burning  embarrassment  and  confusion 
he  stooped  down  so  as  to  hide  his  face,  and  began 
writing  with  his  finger  on  the  ground.  His  tormentors 
continued  their  clamor,  until  he  raised  his  head  for  a 
moment  and  said,  4  He  that  is  without  sin  among  you 
let  him  first  cast  a  stone  at  her,’  and  then  instantly 
returned  to  his  former  attitude.  They  had  a  glimpse 
perhaps  of  the  glowing  blush  upon  his  face,  and 
awoke  suddenly  with  astonishment  to  a  new  sense  of 
their  condition  and  their  conduct.  The  older  men 
naturally  felt  it  first  and  slunk  away ;  the  younger  fol¬ 
lowed  their  example.  The  crowd  dissolved  and  leii 
Christ  alone  with  the  woman.  Not  till  then  could  he 
bear  to  stand  upright;  and  when  he  had  lifted  himself 
up,  consistently  with  his  principle,  he  dismissed  the 


N’ATUKE  OF  CHRIST’S  SOCIETY.  I  I  7 

woman,  as  having  no  commission  to  interfere  with 
the  office  of  the  civil  judge. 

But  the  mighty  power  of  living  puiity  had  done  its 
work.  He  had  refused  to  judge  a  woman,  but  he  had 
judged  a  whole  crowd.  He  had  awakened  the  slum¬ 
bering  conscience  in  many  hardened  hearts,  given 
them  a  new  delicacy,  a  new  ideal,  a  new  view  and 
leading  of  the  Mosaic  law. 

And  yet  this  crowd  was  either  indifferent  or  bitterly 
hostile  to  him.  Let  us  imagine  the  correcting,  elevat¬ 
ing  influence  of  his  presence  upon  those  who,  so  far 
from  being  indifferent,  were  bound  to  him  by  the  ties 
which  bind  a  soldier  to  his  superior  officer,  a  clans¬ 
man  to  his  chief,  a  subject  to  a  king  ruling  by  Divine 
right,  ay,  and  by  ties  far  closer.  The  ancient  philoso¬ 
phers  were  accustomed  to  inquire  about  virtue,  whether 
it  can  be  taught.  Yes !  it  can  be  taught,  and  in  this 
way.  But  if  this  way  be  abandoned,  and  moral  phi¬ 
losophy  be  set  up  to  do  that  which  in  the  nature  of 
things  philosophy  can  never  do,  the  effect  will  appear 
in  a  certain  slow  deterioration  of  manners  which  it 
would  be  hard  to  describe  had  it  not  been  described 
already  in  well-known  words  :  4  Sophistry  and  calcu¬ 
lation  ’  will  take  the  place  of  4  chivalry.’  There  will 
be  no  more  4  generous  loyalty,’  no  more  4  proud  sub¬ 
mission,’  no  more  4  dignified  obedience.’  A  stain  will 
no  more  be  felt  like  a  wound,  and  our  hardened  and 
coarsened  manners  will  lose  the  4  sensibility  of  princi¬ 
ple  and  the  chastity  of  honor.’ 


ii8 


SECOND  PART. 


CHRIST'S  LEGISLATION . 


CHAPTER  X. 

Christ’s  legislation  compared  with 

PHILOSOPHIC  SYSTEMS. 


E  have  thus  traced  the  rise  of  a  monarchy,  the 


*  »  purest  and  the  most  ideal  that  has  ever  existed 
among  men.  The  most  ideal,  for  in  this  monarchy  alone 
the  obedience  of  the  subject  was  in  no  case  reluctant  or 
mercenary,  but  grounded  upon  a  genuine  conviction 
of  the  immeasurable  superiority  in  goodness,  wisdom, 
and  power  of  the  ruler.  Such  a  superiority  is  always 
supposed  to  exist  in  a  king,  and  to  constitute  the 
giound  of  his  authority;  but  this  is  in  most  cases  a 
fiction  which  deceives  no  one,  and  only  sustains  itself 
in  bombastic  titles  and  hollow  liturgies  of  court  eti¬ 
quette.  Where,  however,  the  king  has  risen  in  dis* 
turbed  times  from  a  private  station,  and  has  won  his 
sceptre  by  merit,  the  theory  is  no  mere  constitutional 
fiction.  Such  a  king  is,  to  many  of  his  subjects,  the 
true  master  he  claims  to  be  to  all ;  there  are  many 
who  obey  him  from  a  voluntary  loyalty,  who  do  in 
their  hearts  worship  his  superiority,  and  who  find 
their  freedom  in  accepting  his  yoke.  But  even  in  this 


Christ’s  legislation. 


n9 

case  there  are  many  whose  submission  is  reluctant 
and  sullen,  or  else  mercenary  and  hypocritical.  There 
is  always  at  least  a  minority  whose  subjection  is  se¬ 
cured  by  force.  In  Christ’s  monarchy  no  force  was 
used,  though  all  power  was  at  command ;  the  obedi¬ 
ence  of  his  servants  became  in  the  end,  though  not 
till  after  his  departure,  absolutely  unqualified,  even 
when  it  involved  the  sacrifice  of  life ;  and  it  was  ob¬ 
tained  from  them  by  no  other  means  than  the  natural 
influence  of  a  natural  superiority. 

This  monarchy  was  essentially  despotic,  and  might, 
in  spite  of  the  goodness  of  the  sovereign,  have  had 
some  mischievous  consequences,  if  he  had  remained 
too  long  among  his  subjects,  and  if  his  dictation  had 
descended  too  much  into  particulars.  But  he  shunned 
the  details  of  administration,  and  assumed  only  the 
higher  functions  of  an  heroic  monarch  —  those  of  or¬ 
ganization  and  legislation.  And  when  these  were 
sufficiently  discharged,  when  his  whole  mind  and  will 
had  expressed  itself  in  precept  and  signed  itself  forever 
in  transcendent  deeds,  he  withdrew  to  a  secret  post 
of  observation,  from  whence  he  visited  his  people  for 
the  future  only  in  refreshing  inspirations  and  great 
acts  of  providential  justice. 

The  time  has  now  come  for  examining  the  legisla¬ 
tion  which  Christ  gave  to  his  Society.  It  has  an 
important  point  of  likeness  and  at  the  same  time  of 
unlikeness  to  the  legislation  which  it  superseded. 
The  legislation  which  Jehovah  gave  to  the  Jews  was 
always  regarded  by  them  not  merely  as  a  rule  for 
their  own  actions,  but  as  a  reflection  and  revelation 
of  the  character  of  their  Invisible  King.  The  faithful 


120 


ECCE  HOMO. 


Jew  in  obeying  Jehovah  became  like  Him.  This 
inspiring  reflection  gave  life  and  moral  vigor  to  the 
Mosaic  system.  But  that  system  labored. at  the  same 
time  under  the  disadvantage  that  Jehovah  was  known 
to  His  subjects  only  through  His  law.  Only  in  pro¬ 
hibition  and  penalty  was  He  revealed,  only  in  thunder 
could  His  voice  be  heard.  Now  the  law  of  Christ  was 
in  like  manner  a  reflection  of  the  mind  of  the  law¬ 
giver  ;  but  the  new  Jehovah  made  his  character  known 
not  by  his  code  merely,  but  by  a  life  led  in  the  sight 
of  men,  by  ‘  going  in  and  out’  among  the  people. 
The  effect  of  this  novelty  was  incalculable.  It  was 
a  moral  emancipation ;  it  was  freedom  succeeding 
slavery.  The  experience  of  daily  life  may  explain  this 
to  us.  It  is  a  slavish  toil  to  learn  any  art  by  text-books 
merely,  without  the  assistance  of  a  tutor  ;  the  written 
rule  is  of  little  use,  is  scarcely  intelligible,  until  we 
have  seen  it  reduced  to  practice  by  one  who  can  prac¬ 
tise  it  easily  and  make  its  justice  apparent.  The  ease 
and  readiness  of  the  master  are  infectious  ;  the  pupil, 
as  he  looks  on,  conceives  a  new  hope,  a  new  self- 
reliance  ;  he  seems  already  to  touch  the  goal  which 
before  appeared  removed  to  a  hopeless  distance.  It  is 
a  slavery  when  soldiers  are  driven  against  the  enemy 
by  the  despotic  command  of  a  leader  who  does  not 
share  the  danger,  but  the  service  becomes  free  and 
glorious  when  the  general  rides  to  the  front.  Such 
was  the  revival  of  spirit  which  the  Jew  experienced 
when  he  took  the  oath  to  Christ,  and  which  he  de¬ 
scribed  by  saying  that  he  was  no  longer  under  the  law 
but  under  grace.  He  had  gained  a  tutor  instead  of  a 
text-book,  a  leader  instead  of  a  master,  and  when  he 


Christ’s  legislation 


123 


learned  what  to  do,  he  learned  at  the  same  time  how 
to  do  it,  and  received  encouragement  in  attempting  it. 
And  the  law  which  Christ  gave  was  not  only  illus¬ 
trated,  but  infinitely  enlarged  by  his  deeds.  For 
every  deed  was  itself  a  precedent  to  be  followed,  and 
therefore  to  discuss  the  legislation  of  Christ  is  to  dis¬ 
cuss  his  character  :  for  it  may  be  justly  said  that  Christ 
himself  is  the  Christian  law. 

We  must  therefore  be  careful  not  to  consider  Christ’s 
maxims  apart  from  the  deeds  which  were  intended  to 
illustrate  them.  There  have  been  few  teachers  whose 
words  will  less  bear  to  be  divorced  from  their  context 
of  occasion  and  circumstance.  But  we  find  in  our 
biographies  the  report  of  a  long  discourse,  which,  as 
far  as  we  know,  was  suggested  by  no  special  incidents, 
and  which  seems  to  have  been  intended  as  a  general 
exposition  of  the  laws  of  the  new  kingdom.  This  dis¬ 
course  is  commonly  called  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount ; 
it  is  recognized  by  all  as  the  fundamental  document 
of  Christian  morality,  and  by  some  it  is  regarded  as 
constituting  Christ’s  principal  claim  upon  the  homage 
of  the  world.  Naturally  therefore  it  first  attracts  the 
attention  of  those  who  wish  to  consider  him  in  his 
character  of  legislator  or  moralist. 

The  style  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  is  neither 
purely  philosophical  nor  purely  practical.  It  refers 
throughout  to  first  principles,  but  it  does  not  state 
<them  in  an  abstract  form  ;  on  the  other  hand,  it  en¬ 
ters  into  special  cases  and  detail,  but  never  so  far  as 
to  lose  sight  of  first  principles.  It  is  equally  unlike 
the  early  national  codes,  which  simply  formularized 
without  method  existing  customs,  and  the  early  moral 
6 


122 


ECCE  HOMO. 


treatises  such  as  those  of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  which 
are  purely  scientific.  Of  Jewish  writings  it  resembles 
most  the  book  of  Deuteronomy,  in  which  the  Mosaic 
law  was  recapitulated  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make 
the  principles  on  which  it  was  founded  apparent ;  of 
Gentile  writings  it  may  be  compared  with  those  of 
Epictetus,  Aurelius,  and  Seneca,  in  which  we  see  a 
scientific  morality  brought  to  bear  upon  the  struggles 
and  details  of  actual  life.  It  uses  all  the  philosophical 
machinery  of  generalization  and  distinction,  but  its 
object  is  not  philosophical  but  practical  —  that  is,  not 
truth  but  good. 

As  then  this  discourse  has  a  philosophic  unity,  let 
us  try  to  discover  what  that  unity  is.  As  it  propounds 
to  us  a  scheme  of  life  founded  upon  a  principle,  let  us 
try  to  state  the  principle.  The  work  of  all  legislators, 
reformers,  and  philosophers  is  in  one  respect  alike  ;  it 
is  in  all  cases  a  protest  against  a  kind  of  life  which, 
notwithstanding,  might  seem  to  have  its  attractions, 
which,  at  any  rate,  suggests  itself  very  naturally  to 
men,  and  is  not  abandoned  without  reluctance.  All 
reformers  call  on  men  to  reduce  their  lives  to  a  rule 
different  from  that  of  immediate  self-interest,  to  live 
according  to  a  permanent  principle  and  not,  as  the 
poet  says,  ‘  at  random.’  Against  the  dominion  of 
appetite  all  the  teachers  of  mankind  are  at  one :  all 
agree  in  repudiating  the  doctrine  of  the  savage  i 

I  bow  to  ne’er  a  god  except  myself, 

And  to  my  Belly,  first  of  deities. 

To  eat  and  drink  your  daily  food  and  drinky 
This  is  the  creed  of  sober-minded  people, 


CHRIST'S  LEGISLATION. 


123 


And  not  to  fret  yourself.  But  those  who  make 
Laws,  and  sophisticate  the  life  of  man, 

I  bid  them  pack. 

In  the  time  of  Christ,  when  Socrates  had  been  in 
his  grave  four  hundred  years,  it  was  hardiy  necessary 
for  a  philosopher  to  inveigh  in  set  terms  against  such 
naked  self-indulgence.  The  rudimentary  lessons  of 
philosophy  had  now  been  widely  diffused.  But  as 
Christ  called  the  poor  into  his  kingdom,  and  addressed 
his  invitation  to  those  whom  no  reformer  had  hoped 
before  to  win.  he  was  at  the  trouble  to  reason  with 
this  grossest  egotism.  On  one  occasion  he  told  a 
homely  tale  of  a  man  who.  absorbed  in  the  pursuit  and 
enjoyment  of  wealth,  was  struck  at  the  very  moment  of 
complete  self-satisfaction  by  sudden  death,  and  com¬ 
pelled  to  relinquish  the  treasures  he  had  sacrificed 
every  lasting  good  to  amass.  At  another  time  he  went 
further,  and  described  tortures  and  agonies  which 
might  await  on  the  further  side  of  death  some  whose 
lot  had  been  most  enviable  on  this.  And  in  the  dis¬ 
course  before  us  he  expostulates,  though  in  a  gentler 
tone,  with  the  same  class  of  sensualists. 

There  are  two  principal  ways  of  rebuking  lawless 
sensuality :  it  is  most  important  to  consider  whether 
Christ’s  method  coincides  with  either  of  them.  The 
first  is  to  admit  the  sensualist  to  be  right  in  his  end. 
but  charge  him  with  clumsiness  in  his  choice  of  means. 
To  get  the  greatest  amount  of  pleasure,  it  may  be 
said,  is  the  only  rational  object  which  a  man  can  pro¬ 
pose  to  himself ;  but  to  suppose  that  this  object  can  be 
atfained  either  by  recklessly  gratifying  every  desire  as 
it  arises,  or  by  collecting  huge  heaps  of  the  ordinary 


124 


ECCE  HOMO. 


material  of  pleasure,  such  as  money  or  food  or  fine 
clothes,  is  childish.  Pleasure  is  a  delicate  plant,  and 
cannot  be  cultivated  without  much  study  and  practice. 
Any  excess  of  it  is  followed  by  a  reaction  of  disgust 
and  by  a  diminution  in  the  power  of  entertaining  it. 
If  you  would  live  in  the  constant  enjoyment  of  it, 
you  must  carefully  ascertain  how  large  a  dose  it  will 
be  safe  to  take  at  a  time,  and  then  you  must  drill 
yourself  by  a  constant  discipline  never  to  exceed  that 
dose.  Again,  what  is  pleasant  to  one  man  is  not 
equally  so  to  another ;  you  must  study  your  own  dis¬ 
position  ;  you  must  learn  to  know  your  own  mind, 
and  not  slavishly  enjoy  through  another  man’s  senses. 
Once  more,  pleasant  things,  such  as  food  or  fine 
clothes,  are  indeed  among  the  conditions  of  pleasure, 
but  they  do  not  by  themselves  constitute  it.  He  who 
devotes  himself  to  the  acquisition  of  these,  and  neg¬ 
lects  to  prepare  his  own  mind  for  the  full  enjoyment  of 
them,  will  defeat  his  own  object  and  sacrifice  the  end 
to  the  means.  We  must  therefore  tell  the  sensualist 
not  that  he  loves  pleasure  too  much,  but  that  he  ought 
to  love  it  more,  that  he  ought  to  seek  it  more  exclu¬ 
sively,  and  not  to  suffer  himself  to  be  cheated  by  the 
mere  external  semblance  and  counterfeit  of  it. 

Of  course  it  is  quite  unjust  to  represent  this  theory 
as  repudiating  moral  virtue.  Among  the  indispensa¬ 
ble  conditions  of  pleasure  virtue  may  very  well  be 
reckoned  :  it  is  perfectly  open  to  an  Epicurean  philos¬ 
opher  to  declare  all  other  instruments  of  pleasure  to  be 
inoperative  and  useless  compared  with  or  independent 
of  virtue.  And  those  who  think  that  we  should  not 
make  pleasure  our  chief  object,  yet  commonly  main* 


Christ’s  legislation. 


125 


lain  that  he  who  lives  best  will  actually  attain  the 
greatest  amount  and  the  best  kind  of  pleasure  ;  so  that 
the  most  successful  votary  of  pleasure  would  coincide 
with  the  ideal  man  of  the  very  schools  which  most 
vehemently  denounce  pleasure-worship.  The  practi¬ 
cal  objection  to  Epicureanism  is  not  so  much  that  it 
makes  pleasure  the  summurn  bonum ,  as  that  it  recoin® 
mends  us  to  keep  this  summum  bonum  always  in  view. 
For  it  is  far  from  being  universally  true  that  to  get  a 
thing  you  must  aim  at  it.  There  are  some  things 
which  can  only  be  gained  by  renouncing  them.  To 
use  a  familiar  illustration :  it  is  easy  to  breathe  evenly 
so  long  as  you  do  not  think  about  it ;  but  as  soon  as 
you  try,  it  becomes  impossible.  Many  of  the  moral 
virtues  are  of  this  kind.  Simplicity  of  character  can¬ 
not  be  produced  by  thinking  of  it ;  rather,  the  more 
you  think  of  it  the  farther  you  travel  into  the  opposite 
extreme  of  self-consciousness.  The  grace  of  humility 
is  not  to  be  won  by  constantly  comparing  yourself 
with  others  and  cataloguing  your  deficiencies ;  this 
method  is  more  likely  to  issue  in  hypocritical  self- 
conceit.  Now,  a  practical  survey  of  life  seems  to 
show  that  pleasure  in  its  largest  sense  —  a  true  and 
deep  enjoyment  of  life  —  is  also  not  to  be  gained  arti¬ 
ficially  Much  of  what  Epicureans  say  is  doubtless 
true  and  valuable  ;  our  pleasures  may  be  considerably 
heightened  by  a  little  common  sense  ;  we  often  break 
the  cup  or  upset  it  in  our  excessive  eagerness  to  drain 
it  to  the  bottom.  Still,  we  destroy  pleasure  by  making 
it  our  chief  object ;  its  essential  nature  is  corrupted 
when  it  is  made  into  a  business  :  the  highest  perfection 
of  it  is  not  among  the  prizes  of  exertion,  the  rewards 


126 


ECCE  HOMO. 


of  industry  or  ingenuity,  but  a  bounty  of  nature,  a 
grace  of  God.  By  contrivance  and  skill  only  an  in¬ 
ferior  sort  can  be  attained,  to  which  the  keenness,  the 
glee,  the  racy  bitter  of  the  sweet,  is  wanting.  And 
this  is  the  utmost  that  can  be  attained ;  this  is  what 
can  be  made  of  pleasure  by  the  most  skilful  artificers 
of  it.  What,  then,  would  the  poor  and  simple-minded 
gain  from  such  a  principle?  Epicureanism  popular¬ 
ized  inevitably  turns  to  vice  ;  no  skill  in  the  preachers 
of  it  will  avail  for  a  moment  to  prevent  the  obscene 
transformation.  It  would  probably  be  safe  to  go  far¬ 
ther,  and  say  that  Epicureanism  means  vice  in  all 
cases  except  where  a  rare  refinement  and  tenderness 
of  nature  create  a  natural  propensity  to  virtue  so 
strong  as  to  disarm  the  most  corrupting  influence. 

We  need  not,  then,  be  surprised  to  find  that  Christ, 
whose  purpose  was  entirely  practical,  and  who  was 
legislating  not  for  a  small  minority  but  for  mankind, 
did  not  place  his  reproof  of  sensuality  on  this  ground. 
When  he  said,  4  Fret  not  yourself  about  your  life  what 
ye  shall  eat,  nor  about  your  body  what  ye  shall  put 
on,’  he  did  not  go  on  to  say,  4  Remember  for  what 
end  food  and  clothing  are  intended ;  remember  that 
they  are  only  the  appliances  of  pleasure,  and  make  it 
your  object  to  gain  pleasure  not  through  these  means 
only,  but  by  every  means  within  your  reach,  including 
moral  virtue.’  But  he  proposes  another  object  alto¬ 
gether — 4  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  righteousness.’ 

There  is  another  way  in  which  it  has  been  common 
to  argue  with  the  sensualist.  It  has  been  said  that  the 
sensualist  makes  bodily  pleasure  his  object,  and  that  in 
so  doing  he  forgets  that  man  possesses  a  soul  as  well 


CHRIST’S  LEGISLATION. 


I27 


«&  a  body.  This  soul,  it  is  said,  is  the  nobler  part  of 
the  man ;  the  body  is  but  a  base  appendage  more  or 
jess  useful,  but  so  far  inferior  that  it  should  be  treated 
as  a  slave,  and  so  intractable  that  it  requires  to  be 
coerced,  punished,  kept  to  hard  labor,  and  stinted  of 
sustenance  and  pleasure.  The  interests  of  the  body 
are  not  worth  considering ;  the  man  should  occupy 
himself  with  those  of  the  soul  —  that  is,  the  acquisition 
cf  knowledge,  self-sufficiency,  and  virtue.  But  this 
leasoning,  in  the  first  place,  convinces  very  few,  and, 
in  the  second,  has  an  injurious  effect  upon  those  whom 
it  convinces.  The  soul  and  body  are  inextricably 
united.  It  is  of  no  practical  use  to  consider  them 
apart ;  and  if  we  do  so,  it  is  clear  that  the  human 
body  is  not  a  base  or  mean  thing,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
one  of  the  most  noble  and  glorious  things  known. 
Again,  if  it  is  to  be  made  subservient  to  the  soul,  ex¬ 
perience  abundantly  shows  that  the  soul  does  not 
advance  its  own  interests  by  maltreating  its  slave. 
Discipline  and  coercion  may  sometimes  be  necessary, 
but  the  soul  loses  its  tone  and  health  if  the  interests  of 
the  body  are  not  consulted,  and  if  its  desires  are  not  in 
a  moderate  degree  satisfied.  And  those  who  learn 
from  these  reasoners  to  depreciate  the  body,  first  be¬ 
come  inhumanly  cold  to  natural  beauty  and  out  of 
sympathy  with  the  material  universe,  and  secondly, 
\\  bile  they  slight  their  own  bodily  comforts,  disregard 
the  physical  well-being  of  their  neighbors,  and  become 
unfeeling  and  cruel. 

Christ,  then,  as  a  practical  legislator,  did  not  depre¬ 
ciate  the  body.  On  the  contrary,  he  showed,  both  in 


128 


ECCE  HOMO. 


this  Sermon  and  in  his  whole  career,  a  tenderness  of 
the  bodily  well-being  of  men,  such  as  no  philosophical 
school  except  the  Epicureans  had  shown,  and  such  as 
the  Epicureans  themselves  had  not  surpassed.  He 
spent  the  greater  part  of  his  short  life  in  healing  sick 
people,  and  of  the  comforts  which  he  restored  to  others 
he  did  not  disdain  himself  to  partake.  He  was  to  be 
met  at  weddings ;  many  of  the  discourses  which  his 
biographies  preserve  were  suggested  by  the  incidents 
of  feasts  and  banquets  at  which  he  was  present;  and 
so  marked  was  the  absence  of  asceticism  both  in  his 
own  life  and  in  that  which  he  prescribed  for  his  disci¬ 
ples,  that  his  enemies  called  him  a  glutton  and  a  wine- 
bibber,  and  he  had  to  apologize  for  the  indulgent 
character  of  his  discipline  by  pointing  with  sad  foresight 
to  the  sufferings  which  his  followers  would  all  toe 
soon  have  to  endure.  But  the  words  of  this  Sermon 
are  even  more  striking.  He  divides  himself  at  once 
from  the  ascetic  and  the  Stoic.  They  had  said, 
4  Make  yourselves  independent  of  bodily  comforts  ; ’  he 
says,  4  Ye  have  need  of  these  things.’  But  if  the  Epi¬ 
curean  or  the  sensualist  take  advantage  of  these  words 
and  say,  4  If  you  have  need  of  these  things,  make  it 
your  study  to  obtain  them,’  he  parts  company  not  less 
decidedly  with  these,  and  says,  4  True  pleasure  is  not 
thus  to  be  had.  It  is  the  healthy  bloom  of  the  spirit 
which  must  come  naturally  or  not  at  all.  Those  who 
think  about  it  lose  it,  or,  if  not,  produce  with  all  their 
labor  but  a  poor  imitation  of  it.  Self-consciousness 
and  sensualism  is  the  enemy  of  true  delight.  Solomon 
on  his  throne  was  gaudy ;  the  lilies  of  the  field  are 


CHRIST  S  LEGISLATION. 


I29 


better  dressed.  Epicurus  in  his  garden  was  languid; 
the  birds  of  the  air  have  more  enjoyment  of  their  food.’ 

We  are  therefore  to  dismiss  pleasure  from  our 
thoughts  as  a  thing  which  we  are  indeed  made  to 
possess,  yet  are  unable  by  our  own  efforts  to  obtain. 
W e  are  to  expect  that  it  will  come  of  itself,  and  in  the 
mean  while  we  are  to  adopt  a  mode  of  life  which  has 
no  reference  to  it.  But  if  this  rule  should  prescribe  a 
course  of  conduct  which  so  far  from  producing  pleas¬ 
ure  should  involve  us  in  the  most  painful  difficulties 
and  hardships,  shall  we  then  turn  back  as  though  the 
promise  were  unfulfilled?  And  if  it  should  issue  in 
death  itself,  and  thus  absolutely  prevent  to  all  appear¬ 
ance  the  promise  from  being  fulfilled,  what  shall  we 
think?  Christ  anticipates  our  perplexity.  Such  cases 
he  tells  us  will  frequently  arise.  His  rule  of  life  will 
often,  nay,  generally,  involve  us  in  hardships,  and  at 
certain  periods  in  death  itself.  But  the  Creator  of  the 
world,  our  Father  in  Heaven,  from  whom  alone,  in  all 
cases,  genuine  pleasure  and  satisfaction  come,  is  more 
to  be  trusted  than  these  adverse  appearances.  Pleas¬ 
ure  shall  assuredly  be  ours,  but  in  no  extremity  are  we 
to  make  it  our  object.  You  shall  suffer  and  yet  you 
shall  enjoy.  Both  are  certain,  and  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  attempt  to  reconcile  the  apparent  contradic¬ 
tion.  ‘  Some  of  you  shall  they  put  to  death  .  .  .  and 
there  shall  not  a  hair  of  your  head  perish.’ 

This  paradoxical  position  — that  pleasure  is  neces¬ 
sary  for  us,  and  yet  that  it  is  not  to  be  sought ;  that 
this  world  is  to  be  renounced,  and  yet  that  it  is  noble 
and  glorious  —  might,  if  it  had  been  taken  up  by  a 

6  * 


130 


ECCE  ITOMO. 


philosophei ,  have  been  regarded  as  a  subtlety  which  it 
would  be  impossible  to  act  upon.  But  as  the  law  laid 
down  by  a  King  and  Master  of  mankind,  every  word 
of  whom  was  treasured  up  and  acted  out  with  devo¬ 
tion,  it  has  had  a  surprising  influence  upon  hi  man 
affairs.  In  the  times  of  the  Roman  Emperois  there 
appeared  a  sect  which  distinguished  itself  by  the  assidu- 
011  s  attention  which  it  bestowed  upon  the  bodily  wants 
of  mankind.  This  sect  set  the  first  example  of  a 
homely  practical  philanthropy,  occupying  itself  with 
the  relief  of  ordinary  human  sufferings,  dispensing 
food  and  clothing  to  the  destitute  and  starving.  At 
the  same  period  there  appeared  a  sect  which  was  re¬ 
markable  for  the  contempt  in  which  it  held  human 
suffering.  Roman  magistrates  were  perplexed  to  find, 
when  it  became  necessary  to  coerce  this  sect  by  penal 
inflictions,  that  bodily  pains,  tortures,  and  death  itself 
were  not  regarded  as  evils  by  its  members.  These 
two  sects  appeared  to  run  into  contrary  extremes. 
The  one  seemed  to  carry  their  regard  for  the  body  to 
the  borders  of  effeminacy ;  the  other  pushed  Stoical 
apathy  almost  to  madness.  Yet  these  two  sects  were 
one  and  the  same  —  the  Christian  Church.  And 
though  within  that  body  every  conceivable  corruption 
has  at  some  time  or  other  sprung  up,  this  tradition  has 
never  been  long  lost,  and  in  every  age  the  Christian 
temper  has  shivered  at  the  touch  of  Stoic  apathy  and 
shuddered  at  that  of  Epicurean  indolence. 

But  we  have  not  yet,  except  by  negatives,  answered 
the  question  how  Christ  argued  with  the  sensualist. 
We  have  discovered  as  yet  only  that  he  did  not  employ 


Christ’s  legislation. 


l3* 

two  common  arguments.  For  a  lawless  pursuit  of 
bodily  enjoyment  he  did  not  exhort  him  to  substitute 
either  a  methodical  pursuit  of  the  same  object  or  a 
pursuit  of  intellectual  and  moral  well-being.  What, 
then,  did  he  substitute?  What  was  that  4  kingdom  of 
God  and  his  righteousness  *  which  he  bade  men  make 
the  first  object  of  their  search? 


132 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  CHRISTIAN  REPUBLIC. 

SEEK  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  ght* 
eousness.’  This  exhortation  is  precisely  what  we 
had  reason  to  expect,  for  we  have  already  remarked 
that  the  cry  which  John  raised  in  the  desert,  4  The 
kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand/  was  taken  up  by 
Christ,  and  that  his  life  was  devoted  to  proclaiming  this 
new  political  constitution,  to  collecting  adherents  to 
it,  and  promulgating  its  laws.  That  kingdom  of  God 
into  which  he  called  men  he  elevates  in  this  passage 
into  the  summum  bonum  of  human  life,  and  represents 
it  as  the  secret  of  happiness  and  of  all  enduring  good 
to  belong  to  the  divine  society,  and  to  understand  and 
keep  the  rules  prescribed  for  its  members. 

Before  we  inquire  into  the  nature  of  this  society  and 
of  its  rules,  it  is  important  to  consider  what  is  implied 
in  the  fact  that  Christ  placed  the  happiness  of  man  in 
a  political  constitution.  The  philosophical  schemes 
which  we  have  described  Christ  as  rejecting  consider 
man  as  an  independent  being,  and  provide  for  him  an 
isolated  happiness  or  welfare.  The  ideal  Epicurean 
is  described  as  indifferent  to  public  affairs  and  falling 
kingdoms,  and  exempt  from  the  pain  alike  of  pity  for 
the  poor  and  jealousy  of  the  rich.  To  be  self-suffi¬ 
cient  was  a  principal  ambition  of  the  rival  school. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  REPUBLIC.  133 

But  a  member  of  a  state  is  one  who  has  ceased  to 
have  a  personal  object,  and  who  has  made  his  welfare 
dependent  on  that  of  others.  He  sacrifices  himself  to 
the  body  of  which  he  has  become  a  member.  In 
giving  up  present  pleasure  he  does  not  differ  from  the 
isolated  man  of  the  philosophers,  but  he  differs  from 
him  in  giving  it  up  not  prudentially  that  he  may  get 
more  of  it  in  the  end  or  something  better  than  it,  but 
disinterestedly  and  for  the  sake  of  other  people.  It  h 
no  doubt  true  that  a  man’s  personal  happiness  is  much 
increased  by  becoming  a  member  of  a  community  and 
having  an  object  apart  from  himself ;  for,  according  to 
the  paradox  already  stated,  no  man  is  so  happy  as  he 
who  does  not  aim  at  happiness.  But  that  such  per¬ 
sonal  happiness  is  not  the  ultimate  object  of  the  social 
union  is  plain  from  this,  that  men  are  expected  to 
sacrifice  not  a  part  of  their  happiness,  but  all  of  it,  for 
the  state,  and  to  die  in  battle  for  a  cause  in  which  they 
may  have  no  personal  interest,  and  which  they  may 
even  hold  to  be  unjust.  It  was  not  with  any  personal 
object  whatever,  it  was  with  no  hope  of  reward  in  a 
future  state,  it  was  not  for  glory,  if  their  poet  may  be 
believed,  but  in  obedience  to  the  laws  of  Sparta,  that 
the  three  hundred  laid  down  their  lives  in  the  pass  of 
Thermopylae.  Such  a  disinterested  surrender  is  im¬ 
plied  in  the  very  notion  of  a  political  community.  It 
is  accordingly  inculcated  throughout  this  discourse  as 
the  great  duty  of  those  who  enter  the  kingdom  of 
God.  They  are  to  surrender  all  personal  claims  —  not 
only,  as  Christ  said  often  on  other  occasions,  goods 
and  property,  life  and  family  ties,  but  other  claims, 
which  it  seenii  not  painful  merely  but  degrading  to 


ECCE  HOMO. 


'34 

waive  —  the.  claims  of  wounded  honor,  of  just  resent¬ 
ment  ot  injuries.  All  these  things  we  are  to  be  pre¬ 
pared  to  suriender,  as  he  said  elsewhere,  4  hoping  foi 
nothing  again.’ 

And  yet  it  may  be  said  the  sacrifice  which  Christ 
exacts  is  no  more  genuine  than  that  recommended  by 
the  Epicurean,  for  he  never  fails  to  promise  a  full 
recompense  in  the  world  to  come.  Scarcely  once  in 
this  Sermon  does  he  inculcate  self-sacrifice  without  a 
reference  to  the  other  side  of  the  account — to  the 
treasures  God  has  in  store  for  those  who  despise  the 
gold  and  silver  of  the  earth.  And  however  much  we 
may  admire  the  Christian  martyrs,  yet  how  can  we 
compare  their  self-devotion  with  that  of  the  Spartan 
three  hundred  or  the  Roman  Decius?  Those  heroes 
surrendered  a//,  and  looked  forward  to  nothing  but  the 
joyless  asphodel  meadow  or  4  drear  Cocytus  with  its 
languid  stream.’  But  the  Christian  martyr  might  well 
die  with  exaltation,  for  what  he  lost  was  poor  com¬ 
pared  with  that  which  he  hoped  instantly  to  gain. 
The  happiness  he  expected  may  not  have  been  sen¬ 
sual  ;  it  was  not  4  the  sparkle  of  female  eyes,  the 
handkerchief  of  green  silk,  the  cap  of  precious 
stones,’  *  that  comforted  him  for  the  loss  of  this  life, 
but  he  expected  a  personal  and  real,  if  not  a  sensual 
happiness. 

It  is  most  true  that  Christ’s  society,  like  all  other 
political  societies,  does  promise  happiness  to  its  mem¬ 
bers  ;  it  is  further  true  that  it  promises  this  happiness, 
not  as  other  societies  in  general,  but  to  every  individual 

•  The  vision  of  the  dying  Islamite  See  Gibbon,  cap  li. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  REPUBLIC.  13^ 

member.  The  most  complete  self-sacrifice  therefore, 
the  love  that  gives  up  all ,  is  impossible  in  the  Christian 
Church,  as  it  is  rarely  possible  in  any  society,  as  one 
must  suppose  it  impossible  in  the  ideal  society.  Still 
the  paradox  must  be  repeated :  though  self-surrender 
lead  in  general,  though  it  lead  infallibly,  to  happiness, 
yet  happiness  is  not  its  object.  And  if  this  seem  a 
pedantic  refinement  outrageous  to  common  sense,  it 
will  not  appear  so  when  we  consider  the  nature  of  the 
self-surrender  which  Christ  enjoins.  For  such  self¬ 
surrender  with  such  an  object  is  simply  impossible. 
A  man  can  no  doubt  do  any  specific  acts,  however 
painful,  with  a  view  to  his  ultimate  interest.  With  a 
view  to  his  ultimate  interest  a  man  may  fast,  may  im¬ 
pose  painful  penances  on  himself ;  nay,  with  a  view  to 
his  ultimate  interest  a  man  may  go  two  miles  with  one 
who  has  compelled  him  to  go  one,  may  turn  the  left 
cheek  to  one  who  has  smitten  him  on  the  right,  nay, 
may  even  $ray  for  those  that  use  him  spitefully, 
although  in  doing  so  he  will  be  guilty  of  the  most 
hideous  hypocrisy.  But  can  a  man,  with  a  view  to 
his  ultimate  interest,  in  order  that  he  may  go  to 
heaven,  love  his  enemies? 

It  appears  throughout  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 
that  there  was  a  class  of  persons  whom  Christ  regard¬ 
ed  with  peculiar  aversion  —  the  persons  who  call  them- 
selves  one  thing  and  are  another.  He  describes  them 
by  a  word  which  originally  meant  an  4  actor.’  Prob¬ 
ably  it  may  in  Christ’s  time  have  already  become 
current  in  the  sense  which  we  give  to  the  word  4  hypo¬ 
crite.’  But  nc  doubt  whenever  it  was  used  the  original 
sense  of  the  word  was  distinctly  remembered.  And 


>36 


ECCE  HOMO. 


in  this  Sermon,  whenever  Christ  denounces  any  vice, 
it  is  with  the  words,  ‘  Be  not  you  like  the  actors.’  In 
common  with  all  great  reformers,  Christ  felt  that 
honesty  in  word  and  deed  was  the  fundamental  virtue  ; 
dishonesty,  including  affectation,  self-consciousness, 
love  of  stage  effect,  the  one  incurable  vice.  Our 
thoughts,  words,  and  deeds  are  to  be  of  a  piece.  For 
example,  if  we  would  pray  to  God,  let  us  go  into 
some  inner  room  where  none  but  God  shall  see  us ; 
to  pray  at  the  corner  of  the  streets,  where  the  passing 
crDwd  may  admire  our  devotion,  is  to  act  a  prayer. 
If  we  would  keep  down  the  rebellious  flesh  by  fasting, 
this  concerns  ourselves  only  ;  it  is  acting  to  parade 
before  the  world  our  self-mortification.  And  if  we 
would  put  down  sin,  let  us  put  it  down  in  ourselves 
first ;  it  is  only  the  actor  who  begins  by  frowning  at 
it  in  others.  But  there  are  subtler  forms  of  hypocrisy, 
which  Christ  does  not  denounce,  probably  because 
they  have  sprung  since  out  of  the  corruption  of  a 
subtler  creed.  The  hypocrite  of  that  age  wanted 
simply  money  or  credit  with  the  people.  His  ends 
were  those  of  the  vulgar,  though  his  means  were  dif¬ 
ferent.  Christ  endeavored  to  cure  both  alike  of  their 
vulgarity  by  telling  them  of  other  riches  and  another 
happiness  laid  up  in  heaven.  Some  of  course  would 
neither  understand  nor  regard  his  words,  others  would 
understand  and  receive  them.  But  a  third  class  would 
receive  them  without  understanding  them,  and,  instead 
of  being  cured  of  their  avarice  and  sensuality,  would 
simply  transfer  them  to  new  objects  of  desire.  Shrewd 
enough  to  discern  Christ’s  greatness,  instinctively  be¬ 
lieving  what  he  said  to  be  true,  they  would  set  out  with 


THE  CHRISTIAN  REPUBLIC. 


137 


a  triumphant  eagerness  in  pursuit  of  the  heavenly 
riches,  and  laugh  at  the  short-sighted  and  weak-minded 
speculator  who  contented  himself  with  the  easy  but  in¬ 
significant  profits  of  a  worldly  life.  They  would  prac¬ 
tise  assiduously  the  rules  by  which  Christ  said  heaven 
was  to  be  won.  They  would  patiently  turn  the  left 
cheek,  indefatigably  walk  the  two  miles,  they  would 
bless  with  effusion  those  who  cursed  them,  and  pray 
fluently  for  those  who  used  them  spitefully.  To  love 
their  enemies,  to  love  any  one,  they  w~ould  certainly 
find  impossible,  but  the  outward  signs  of  love  might 
easily  be  learnt.  And  thus  there  would  arise  a  new 
class  of  actors,  not  like  those  whom  Christ  denounced, 
exhibiting  before  an  earthly  audience  and  receiving 
their  pay  from  human  managers,  but  hoping  to  be  paid 
for  their  performance  out  of  the  incorruptible  treasures, 
and  to  impose  by  their  dramatic  talent  upon  their  Fa¬ 
ther  in  heaven. 

Christ’s  meaning,  however,  is  not  doubtful.  The 
principle  is  distinctly  laid  down.  Our  thoughts  and 
deeds  are  to  be  of  a  piece.  A  pious  and  devout  life 
will  undoubtedly  win  for  a  man  the  reverence  of  the 
multitude,  and  yet  Christ  tells  us  when  we  pray  we  are 
to  think  of  God  and  not  of  the  credit  we  may  gain. 
And  so  though  by  loving  our  neighbor  and  our  enemy 
we  shall  win  heaven,  we  are  not  to  think  of  the  heaven 
we  shall  win,  we  are  to  think  of  our  neighbor  and  our 
enemy. 

Noble-minded  men  *  have  often  been  scandalized  by 
the  appearance  which  Christ’s  law  is  made  to  wear,  as 


*  Schiller,  for  example. 


>38 


ECCE  HOMO. 


if  it  were  a  system  in  which  all  virtue  is  corrupted  by 
being  made  mercenary.  The  same  moralists,  however, 
would  have  been  among  the  first  to  assert  that  the  only 
true  and  lasting  happiness  is  that  which  is  gained  by 
the  practice  of  virtue.  Christ  adds  nothing  to  this  ex¬ 
cept  a  promise  that  those  exceptional  cases  in  which 
virtue  appears  to  lose  its  reward  shall  prove  in  the  end 
not  to  be  exceptions.  By  defining  virtue  to  consist  in 
love ,  he  brings  into  prominence  its  unselfish  character ; 
and  by  denouncing  at  the  same  time  with  vehemence 
all  insincerity  and  hypocrisy,  he  sufficiently  shows 
with  what  horror  he  would  have  regarded  any  inter¬ 
ested  beneficence  or  calculating  philanthropy  which 
may  usurp  the  name  of  love. 

It  may,  therefore,  be  affirmed  that  Christ’s  Kingdom 
is  a  true  brotherhood  founded  in  devotion  and  self- 
sacrifice.  Nothing  less,  indeed,  would  have  satisfied 
those  disciples  who  had  begun  to  feel  the  spell  of  his 
character.  A  philosophic  school  or  sect  may  found 
itself  on  the  prudential  instincts  of  man,  may  attract 
empty  hearts,  and  attach  them  by  a  loose  bond  to  each 
other.  But  a  kingdom  stands  on  self-devotion,  and  the 
hearts  of  Christ’s  disciples  were  not  empty.  They  had 
not  gathered  themselves  round  him  to  be  told  how  they 
might  avoid  the  evils  of  life,  but  to  know  what  they 
might  do  for  him,  how  they  might  serve  him,  how  they 
might  prove  their  loyalty  to  him.  It  was  the  art  of 
self-devotion  that  they  wished  to  learn,  and  lie  taught 
it  as  a  master  teaches,  not  sparing  words  but  resting 
most  on  deeds  ;  by  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  but  also 
by  the  Agony  and  the  Crucifixion. 


*39 


CHAPTER  XII. 

UNIVERSALITY  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN 

REPUBLIC. 

WE  discover,  then,  that  Christ’s  society  resembles 
other  political  societies  in  requiring  from  its 
members  a  disinterested  devotion  and  patriotism.  But 
to  understand  its  essential  nature  it  is  necessary  to 
know,  not  in  what  respects  it  resembles  other  things 
of  the  same  kind,  but  in  what  respects  it  differs  from 
them.  We  must  therefore  continue  our  investigation 
until  we  discover  this  difference. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  obvious  features  of  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount  that  it  treats  men  as  standing  in  the  rela¬ 
tion  of  brothers  to  one  another  under  a  common  Father 
in  heaven.  Let  us  consider  what  is  involved  in  this. 

The  earliest  condition  of  mankind  of  which  we  have 
any  knowledge  was  one  of  perpetual  war.  Homer 
describes  a  state  of  society  in  which  a  man  was  safe  in 
the  possession  of  his  lands  and  flocks  only  so  long  as 
there  was  strength  enough  in  his  right  arm  to  defend 
them.  As  soon  as  the  primitive  man  began  to  grow 
old  and  to  lose  his  vigor,  there  was  danger  that  his 
neighbors  would  drive  his  cattle  and  encroach  upon 
his  estate.  Ulysses  in  the  early  part  of  his  wander¬ 
ings,  before  he  has  lost  his  fleet  and  army,  lands  on 
the  Thracian  coast,  and  finds  a  city.  He  instantly 


140 


ECCE  HOMO. 


sacks  it  and  kills  all  the  inhabitants.  This  is  not  be¬ 
cause  there  has  been  a  quarrel,  but  because  there  has 
been  no  treaty ;  the  normal  condition  of  men  at  that 
time  being  mutual  enmity.  To  this  mutual  enmity, 
however,  there  is  an  exception  established  by  an  im¬ 
perative  law  of  nature.  Persons  of  the  same  family 
live  in  perpetual  alliance.  This  seems  to  have  been 
originally  the  only  tie  between  man  and  man,  the  only 
consideration  that  could  prevent  them  from  murdering 
each  other.  Peleus  in  his  old  age  will  be  in  the  great¬ 
est  danger  if  he  is  deprived  of  Achilles,  and  the  very 
children  will  persecute  the  child  Astyanax  after  his 
father’s  death.  Woe  to  the  orphan,  and  woe  to  the 
old  man  who  has  not  surrounded  himself  with  chil¬ 
dren  !  They  are  the  only  arrows  with  which  his 
quiver  can  be  filled,  the  only  defenders  whom  he  can 
trust  to  speak  with  his  enemies  in  the  gate. 

Thus  in  the  earliest  condition  of  things  there  was 
only  one  kind  of  community.  The  primitive  man  had 
no  obligations,  no  duties,  to  any  except  his  parents,  his 
brothers,  and  his  parents’  brothers  and  their  families. 
When  he  met  with  a  man  unrelated  to  him  he  would 
without  hesitation  take  his  life  and  his  property.  But 
the  life  and  property  of  a  relation  were  sacred,  and 
the  Greeks  held  that  there  were  certain  supernatural 
powers  called  Erinyes  who  vindicated  the  rights  of 
relatives.  This  sense  of  relationship  being  natural  and 
universal  and  extending  even  to  the  brute  creation,  we 
cannot  imagine  a  time  when  the  family  with  its  rights 
and  obligations  did  not  exist.  But  the  family  is  a  com. 
munity  which  constantly  expands  until  it  loses  itself  in 
a  more  comprehensive  one.  It  becomes  a  clan,  the 


THE  CHRISTIAN  REPUBLIC.  141 

members  of  which  may  in  many  cases  be  strangers  to 
each  other,  while  they  are,  notwithstanding,  bound 
together  by  the  sacred  tie  of  relationship.  Again,  in 
primitive  times,  when  men  had  little  power  of  verify¬ 
ing  facts  or  weighing  evidence,  relationship  was  often 
supposed  to  exist  between  persons  who  were  really  of 
different  stocks.  Any  resemblance  was  supposed  to 
furnish  a  proof  of  relationship,  and  so  those  who  spoke 
the  same  language  were  presumed  to  be  descended 
from  a  common  ancestor.  In  this  way  the  family 
passed  ultimately  into  the  nation,  and  political  consti¬ 
tutions  and  codes  of  law  came  to  bind  men  together, 
grounded  all  alike  on  the  supposition,  true  or  false, 
that  they  were  relations  by  blood.  When  states  had 
once  been  founded  and  began  to  flourish,  men  began 
to  associate  with  each  other  more  freely  ;  other  grounds 
of  obligation  besides  blood-relationship  were  gradually 
admitted,  and  finally  Rome,  binding  together  in  the 
unity  of  common  subjection  a  number  of  tribes  strange 
to  each  other,  gave  a  basis  of  fact  and  law  to  universal 
morality.  But  in  states  which  had  been  isolated,  and 
had  mixed  little  with  foreigners  either  by  conquest  or 
by  trade,  the  original  tradition  did  not  die  out,  and 
men  continued  to  say  and  to  think  that  they  owed 
obligations  only  to  those  of  the  same  blood.  This 
was  especially  true  of  the  Jews,  the  most  isolated  of 
all  ancient  nations.  Their  common  descent  from 
Abraham  was  always  present  to  their  minds,  and  was 
the  tie  which  bound  them  together.  A  sense  of  obli¬ 
gation  they  expressed  by  the  formula,  c  He  also  is  a 
child  of  Abraham  ;  ’  their  very  religion  was  a  worship 
paid  to  the  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob.  And 


142 


ECCE  HOMO. 


Christ  himself  sometimes  adopted  the  same  style,  as 
when  he  reproved  the  vice  of  selfishness  by  represent¬ 
ing  Dives  as  repudiated  by  Abraham,  and  Lazarus 
welcomed  to  his  bosom  in  the  invisible  world. 

It  was,  therefore,  no  novelty  when,  in  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount,  Christ  described  those  who  entered  the 
Kingdonl  of  God  as  standing  in  the  relation  of  broth¬ 
ers  to  one  another.  In  doing  so  he  only  used  the 
ordinary  language  of  what  may  be  called  ethnic  mo¬ 
rality.  The  novelty  lies  here  that  he  does  not  ground 
the  mutual  obligations  of  men  upon  a  common  descent 
from  Abraham,  but  upon  a  common  descent  from 
God. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  see  what  follows  from  this 
change  of  style.  By  substituting  the  Father  in  Heaven 
for  father  Abraham,  Christ  made  morality  universal. 
This  phrase,  which  places  not  a  certain  number  of 
men,  but  all  men,  in  the  relation  of  brotherhood  to 
each  other,  destroys  at  once  the  partition-wall  between 
Jew  and  Gentile,  Greek  and  barbarian,  German  and 
Welsh,  white  man  and  Negro,  or  under  whatever 
names  the  families  of  the  earth  have  justified  and 
legalized  the  savage  instinct  of  antipathy.  It  is  not  to 
be  imagined  that  the  thought  was  new  or  original ; 
Christ  was  no  theorist  or  philosopher,  but  a  legislator. 
The  thought  had  existed  in  the  mind  of  Socrates, 
when  he  called  himself  a  citizen  of  the  world  ;  it  had 
become  a  commonplace  of  the  Stoic  philosophy ;  il 
was  taken  up  by  Roman  jurists,  and  worked  into  the 
imperial  legislation.  But  to  work  it  into  the  hearts 
and  confidences  of  men  required  a  much  higher  and 
rarer  power,  the  power  of  a  ruler,  not  of  a  philoso- 


THE  CHRISTIAN  REPUBLIC.  143 

pher.  It  may  have  been  the  thought  of  a  Julianus  or 
a  Pap  ini  anus  that  all  the  Roman  world  had  a  right 
to  Roman  citizenship  ;  but  it  was  the  Cassar,  Antoni¬ 
nus  Caracalla,  who  gave  the  right ;  and,  in  like  man¬ 
ner,  what  a  Socrates  and  a  Zeno  and  many  Hebrew 
prophets  had  claimed  for  men,  was  given  to  them  by 
this  Edict  from  the  Mount. 

The  first  law,  then,  of  the  Kingdom  of  God,  is  that 
all  men,  however  divided  from  each  other  by  blood  oi 
language,  have  certain  mutual  duties  arising  out  of 
their  common  relation  to  God.  It  may,  however,  be 
urged  that  this  law  was  superfluous.  Without  deny¬ 
ing  the  fact  that  at  an  earlier  time  nations  had  re¬ 
garded  each  other  as  natural  enemies,  without  main¬ 
taining  that  the  philosophic  doctrine  of  a  unity  in  the 
human  race  had  had  much  practical  influence,  it  may 
still  be  urged  that  the  Roman  Empire  had  already 
realized  that  unity  which  philosophers  had  imagined 
and  to  which  Christ  now  gives  a  late  sanction.  By 
the  Roman  conquests  a  number  of  different  nations 
had  been  brought  together  and  united  under  a  com¬ 
mon  government.  In  the  period  immediately  succeed¬ 
ing  their  subjugation  they  had,  no  doubt,  been  treated 
by  their  conquerors  with  insolent  oppression.  It  was 
plain  that  proconsuls  and  proprietors  had  little  sense 
of  duty  in  regard  to  their  subjects.  The  principal  ob¬ 
ject  of  their  government  was  to  preserve  to  the  state 
its  acquisition,  and  the  secondary  object  to  reap  some 
personal  advantage  from  it.  But  time  had  produced 
a  great  improvement.  The  sense  of  duty,  which  at 
first  was  wanting,  had  been  awakened.  A  morality 
not  founded  on  blood-relation  had  certainly  come  into 


144 


ECCE  HOMO. 


existence  The  Roman  citizenship  had  been  thrown 
open  to  nations  which  were  not  of  Roman  blood.  A 
hundred  years  before  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  was 
delivered  Cicero  had  roused  public  indignation  against 
an  unjust  and  rapacious  propraetor.  Since  that  time 
foreigners  had  been  admitted  by  the  Roman  state  to 
the  highest  civic  honors.  And  in  the  centuries  that 
followed,  the  process  by  which  nations  were  being 
fused  into  one  universal  society  went  steadily  forward 
without  any  help  from  Christian  maxims.  So  sig¬ 
nally,  so  much  more  than  in  later  and  Christian  ages, 
were  national  distinctions  obliterated  under  the  Em¬ 
pire,  that  men  of  all  nations  and  languages  competed 
freely  under  the  same  political  system  for  the  highest 
honors  of  the  state  and  of  literature.  The  good  Au¬ 
relius  and  the  great  Trajan  were  Spaniards.  So  were 
Seneca  and  Martial.  Severus  was  an  African.  The 
leading  jurists  were  of  Oriental  extraction. 

All  this  is  true.  A  number  of  nations  which  had 
before  waged  incessant  war  with  one  another  had 
been  forced  into  a  sort  of  unity.  What  court-poets 
call  a  golden  age  had  set  in.  Round  the  whole  shore 
of  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  and  northward  to  the  Dan¬ 
ube  and  beyond  the  British  Channel,  national  antipa¬ 
thies  had  been  suppressed,  and  war  had  ceased,  while 
the  lives  of  men  were  regulated  by  an  admirable  code 
of  laws.  Yet,  except  to  court-poets,  this  age  did  not 
seem  golden  to  those  who  lived  in  it.  On  the  con¬ 
trary,  they  said  it  was  something  worse  than  an  iron 
age  ;  there  was  no  metal  from  which  they  could  name 
it.  Never  did  men  live  under  such  a  crushing:  sense 
of  degradation,  never  did  they  look  back  with  more 


THE  CHRISTIAN  REPUBLIC. 


Hb 

hitter  regret,  never  were  the  vices  that  spring  out  of 
despair  so  rife,  never  was  sensuality  cultivated  more 
methodically,  never  did  poetry  curdle  so  readily  into 
satire,  never  was  genius  so  much  soured  by  cynicism, 
and  never  was  calumny  so  abundant  or  so  gross  or  so 
easily  believed.  If  morality  depended  on  laws,  or 
happiness  could  be  measured  by  comfort,  this  would 
have  been  the  most  glorious  era  in  the  past  history  of 
mankind.  It  was  in  fact  one  of  the  meanest  and  foul¬ 
est,  because  a  tone  or  spirit  is  necessary  to  morality, 
and  self-respect  is  needful  to  happiness. 

Ancient  morality,  as  it  has  been  already  remarked, 
was  essentially  national  and  exclusive.  Its  creed  was 
that  a  man  is  born  not  for  himself,  but  for  his  parents, 
his  family,  and  the  state.  The  state  was  surrounded 
by  others  with  which,  unless  some  treaty  had  been 
concluded,  it  was  at  war.  To  do  as  much  good  as 
possible  to  one’s  own  state,  and  as  much  harm  as  pos¬ 
sible  to  all  other  states,  was  therefore  the  whole  duty 
of  a  man.  Those  who  performed  this  duty  manfully 
might  look  for  the  protection  of  the  gods  who  lived  in 
temples  built  for  them  within  the  walls  of  the  city,  and 
who  were  feasted  and  enriched  with  the  spoils  of  other 
nations.  Now  this  whole  scheme  of  morality  had 
been  overturned  by  the  Roman  conquests.  For  they 
had  destroyed  the  very  principle  of  nationality  both 
among  conquerors  and  conquered.  Among  the  con¬ 
quered  nations,  for  their  gods  had  left  them,  and  their 
freedom,  which,  as  they  said  themselves,  was  half 
their  virtue,  and  their  isolation,  which  was  the  other 
half,  were  taken  away.  Among  the  Romans  them¬ 
selves,  for  they  had  been  compelled  to  raise  the  con- 

7 


146 


ECCE  HOMO. 


quered  to  their  own  level,  and  they  knew  not  what  to 
make  of  their  new  condition  when  their  own  country 
no  longer  required  to  be  defended  or  enriched,  and 
there  were  scarcely  any  more  foreign  countries  to  be 
invaded.  Yet,  their  poets  thought,  they  might  at  least 
have  occupied  themselves  with  conquering  these. 
4  Shame  on  you!’  says  Lucan.  4  You  turned  your 
arms  against  each  other,  when  you  i?iight  have  been 
sacking  Babylon .’ 

The  nations  were  thus  forced  into  a  unity  for  which 
they  were  not  prepared.  Ethnic  morality,  the  light 
under  which  their  fathers  had  lived,  which  had  given 
them  self-respect,  strength  in  hardships,  and  a  sense 
of  satisfaction  in  the  hour  of  death,  was  now  useless, 
and  universal  morality  was  a  thing  unknown,  or  at 
least  untried.  On  this  new  path  they  were  cheered 
by  no  great  memories,  guided  by  no  acknowledged 
rules.  When  they  treated  a  foreigner  as  a  fellow-cit¬ 
izen,  the  spirits  of  their  fathers  seemed  to  reproach 
them,  and  they  derived  but  cold  comfort  from  the 
approval  of  Stoic  philosophers.  Men  did  what  was 
right  with  the  feeling  that  they  were  doing  wrong. 
The  most  mortal  evil  that  can  befall  mankind  had  be¬ 
fallen  them  —  conscience  took  the  wrong  side. 

It  was  not  a  repetition  of  the  Stoic  maxim  in  more 
emphatic  terms  that  purified  the  human  conscience. 
It  was  the  personality  of  Christ  exciting  a  veneration 
and  worship  which  effaced  in  the  minds  of  his  follow¬ 
ers  their  hereditary  and  habitual  worships.  No  the¬ 
ory,  says  a  Greek  poet,  will  throw  down  ancestral  tra¬ 
ditions.  This  is  true ;  but  they  can  be  overthrown  b) 
a  passionate  personal  devotion.  Father  Abraham 


THE  CHRISTIAN  REPUBLIC.  1^7 

seceding  from  his  Chaldean  community  in  obedience 
to  a  divine  Call,  and  thus  dividing  Jew  from  Gentile 
as  strongly  as  he  united  Jew  with  Jew,  would  have 
resisted  many  generations  of  Rabbinical  teachers. 
Father  ./Eneas  bearing  from  the  flames  of  Troy  the 
venerated  symbols  of  Roman  unity  and  isolation 
would  have  been  too  strong  for  the  Stoic  philosophy. 
Both  alike  faded  like  phantoms,  both  alike  were  super' 
animated,  the  moment  the  heart  is  touched.  And  in 
order  that  those  who  worshipped  his  person  might  not 
forget  his  fundamental  law,  Christ  assumed  a  title  ex¬ 
pressing  the  universality  of  his  dominion,  as  kings 
have  often  borne  titles  taken  from  the  nations  they 
have  added  to  the  empire,  and  called  himself  the  Son 
of  Man. 

How  opportune  this  Edict  of  Comprehension  was 
we  may  learn  by  considering  for  a  moment  the  writ* 
ings  of  Juvenal.  This  poet  reflects  the  deep  dissatis¬ 
faction,  the  bitter  sense  of  degeneracy  and  degrada¬ 
tion,  which  characterized  his  age.  Now  what  is  the 
ground  of  his  despondency?  what  provokes  the  sav¬ 
age  indignation,  which  made  him  a  satirist?  If  we 
examine,  we  shall  find  that  it  is  one  and  the  same 
grievance  which  inspires  almost  every  fierce  tirade, 
namely,  the  mixture  of  races.  Life  seems  to  him  not 
worth  having  when  the  Roman  cannot  walk  the  Via 
Sacra  unelbowed  by  Greeks  and  Syrians.  All  dis¬ 
tinctions,  he  complains,  are  lost ;  the  Roman  worships 
the  Egyptian  monster-deities  whom  his  own  national 
gods  vanquished  at  Actium  ;  Orontes  empties  itself 
into  Tiber ;  it  is  time  for  a  Roman  to  turn  his  back  on 
bis  own  city  when  it  has  become  a  thing  of  no  account 


ECCE  HOMO. 


148 

that  his  infancy  breathed  the  air  of  Aventine  and  was 
fed  upon  the  Sabine  berry.  Now  this  very  wiiter  is  a 
Stoic,  familiar  of  necessity  with  the  speculations  which 
made  the  wise  and  good  of  all  nations  citizens  alike  in 
the  city  of  God.  So  little  power  had  any  such  philo¬ 
sophic  theory  to  supply  the  place  of  a  morality  founded 
on  usage,  on  filial  reverence,  on  great  and  dear  exam¬ 
ples.  Yet  that  theory,  if  it  had  presented  itself  to 
him,  not  as  an  ambitious  speculation  of  philosophers, 
but  as  a  sober  account  of  an  actual  fact,  would  have 
dried  up  the  source  of  his  satire.  He  would  not  have 
regretted  the  downfall  of  national  distinctions,  if  they 
had  been  abolished  by  an  au^ority  equal  in  his  mind 
to  that  which  had  created  them  To  minds  perplexed 
like  his  it  was,  therefore,  the  beginning  of  a  new  life 
and  hope  when  a  new  Romulus  gathered  into  a  newT 
republic  the  chaos  of  nations.  The  city  of  God,  of 
which  the  Stoics  doubtfully  and  feebly  spoke,  was  now 
set  up  before  the  eyes  of  men.  It  was  no  insubstan¬ 
tial  city,  such  as  we  fancy  in  the  clouds,  no  invisible 
pattern  such  as  Plato  thought  might  be  laid  up  in 
heaven,  but  a  visible  corporation  wdiose  members  met 
together  to  eat  bread  and  drink  wine,  and  into  which 
they  were  initiated  by  bodily  immersion  in  water. 
Here  the  Gentile  met  the  Jew  whcm  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  regard  as  an  enemy  of  the  human  race  ; 
the  Roman  met  the  lying  Greek  sophist,  the  Syrian 
slave  the  gladiator  born  beside  the  Danube.  In  broth¬ 
erhood  they  met,  the  natural  birth  and  kindred  of  each 
forgotten,  the  baptism  alone  remembered  in  which  they 
had  been  born  again  to  God  and  to  each  other. 

The  mention  of  slaves  and  gladiators  remind*:  us 


THE  CHRISTIAN  REPUBLIC.  149 

that  ethnic  morality  had,  besides  putting  discord  be¬ 
tween  states,  created  certain  positive  institutions.  As 
under  that  system  obligations  subsisted  only  between 
blood-relations,  and  each  tribe  might  without  provoca¬ 
tion  or  pretext  attack  and  slaughter  any  foreign  com¬ 
munity,  so  had  it  the  right  of  reducing  foreigners  to 
slavery.  Whether  death  or  slavery  should  be  inflicted 
on  the  conquered  enemy  was,  in  fact,  not  a  question 
of  morality  or  mercy,  but  simply  of  calculation.  In 
either  case  the  captive  was  deprived  of  life  so  far  as 
life  is  a  valuable  or  desirable  possession ;  if  he  was 
allowed  to  exist,  it  was  not  for  his  own  sake,  but  as  a 
property  more  or  less  valuable  to  his  master.  Not 
that  the  lot  of  the  slave  was  always  or  inevitably 
miserable  ;  natural  kindness,  which  was  not  killed  but 
only  partially  paralyzed  by  ethnic  morality,  and  which 
was  always  essentially  Christian,  might  indefinitely 
and  in  an  indefinite  number  of  instances  mitigate  the 
bitterness  of  his  lot ;  but  theoretically  he  had  no  more 
claim  to  consideration  or  care  at  the  hands  of  his 
master,  no  more  right  to  happiness,  than  if  he  had 
been  slain  at  the  moment  of  his  capture.  Everywhere 
then  throughout  the  Roman  world  there  was  a  class 
of  outcasts  whom  it  was  supposed  lawful  to  treat  with 
heartless  cruelty,  such  as  would  have  been  held  un¬ 
lawful  if  the  objects  of  it  had  been  fellow-citizens. 
The  ground  on  which  this  right  had  originally  been 
founded  was  that  the  class  in  question  consisted  either 
of  prisoners  taken  in  war,  or  of  the  descendants  of 
such  prisoners  ;  and  that  as  they  were  protected  by  no 
treaties,  their  lives  and  fortunes  were  at  the  disposal 
of  their  captors,  or  of  others  to  whom  the  rights  of 
the  captor  had  passed  by  purchase. 


ECCE  HOMO. 


*5° 

Now  although  Christ  never,  so  far  as  we  know,  had 
occasion  to  pronounce  judgment  on  the  question  of 
slavery,  yet  we  do  not  require  the  testimony  of  his 
earliest  followers  (declaring  that  in  Christ  Jesus  there 
is  neither  bond  nor  free)  to  assure  us  that,  considered 
in  this  sense,  slavery  could  not  be  reconciled  with  his 
law.  The  Edict  of  Comprehension  conferred  citizen¬ 
ship- upon  the  whole  outcast  class.  Under  it,  what¬ 
ever  law  of  mutual  help  and  consideration  had  ob 
tained  between  citizen  and  citizen,  began  to  obtain 
between  the  citizen  and  his  slaves.  The  words  4  for¬ 
eign  *  and  4  barbarous  ’  lost  their  meaning  ;  all  nations 
and  tribes  were  gathered  within  the  pomoerium  of  the 
city  of  God ;  and  on  the  baptized  earth  the  Rhine  and 
the  Thames  became  as  Jordan,  and  every  sullen  desert- 
girdled  settlement  of  German  savages  as  sacred  as 
Jerusalem. 

Therefore  it  is  that  St.  Paul,  writing  to  Philemon, 
exhorts  him  to  receive  back  Onesimus  4  no  longer  as 
a  servant,  but  as  a  brother  beloved.’  It  may,  how¬ 
ever,  surprise  us  that  he  does  not  exhort  Philemon  to 
emancipate  him.  But  this  does  not  seem  to  occur  to 
the  apostle  ;  and  it  has  been  made  matter  of  complaint 
against  the  Christian  Church,  that,  though  it  an¬ 
nounced  a  principle  fundamentally  irreconcilable  with 
slavery,  it  never  pronounced  the  institution  itself  un¬ 
lawful.  Nor  can  it  be  denied  that,  instead  of  telling 
the  s£ave  that  he  was  wronged,  and  exhorting  him  in 
the  name  of  human  nature,  degraded  in  his  person,  to 
take  the  first  opportunity  of  shaking  off  the  yoke,  the 
first  Christian  teachers  exhorted  him  to  obedience, 
and  declared  it  particularly  meritorious  to  be  submis- 


THE  CHRISTIAN  REPUBLIC. 


-51 

sive  to  a  cruel  and  unreasonable  master,  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  they  exhorted  the  masters  not  to  set  their 
slaves  free,  but  simply  to  treat  them  well. 

The  explanation  of  this  is,  that  under  the  name  of 
slavery  two  essentially  different  institutions  were  con¬ 
founded,  only  one  of  which  was  irreconcilable  with 
Christian  principle.  Slavery  may  mean  the  degrada¬ 
tion  of  a  person  into  a  thing,  the  condition  of  a  man 
who  has  no  claims  upon  his  fellow-men.  This  is  es¬ 
sentially  monstrous,  and  has  always  been  condemned 
by  Christianity.  But  it  may  mean  merely  a  condition 
of  dependence,  differing  from  that  of  a  free  servant 
only  in  its  being  compulsory,  and  in  the  rights  of  the 
master  being  transferable  by  purchase.  The  latter 
kind  of  slavery  does  not  depend  upon  the  theory  of 
ethnic  morality ;  it  does  not  deny  that  the  slave  has 
rights  or  claims  upon  his  master ;  it  depends  upon  the 
assumption  of  a  natural  inferiority  in  the  slave  incapa¬ 
citating  him  for  judging  of  his  own  rights  or  for  living 
in  happiness  except  under  guardianship  or  restraint. 
Now,  as  Christianity,  in  asserting  the  unity  of  the 
human  race,  and  their  equality  in  the  sight  of  God 
and  Christ,  did  not  declare  war  upon  the  social  sys¬ 
tem  which  arranges  men  according  to  ‘  degree,  prior¬ 
ity,  and  place,’  and  binds  them  together  by  ties  of 
loyalty  and  obedience,  as  it  did  not  deny,  but  strongly 
confirmed,  the  authority  of  the  father  over  the  child 
and  the  husband  over  the  wife,  an  authority  grounded 
on  a  similar  assumption  of  a  natural  inferiority  and 
incapacity  for  liberty  in  the  woman  and  child,  it  acted 
consistently  ip  withholding  liberty  from  the  slave 
while  it  gave  him  citizenship.  As  it  often  happens 


i5  2 


ECCE  HOMO. 


that  a  usage  introduced  for  one  reason  is  afterwards 
retained  for  another,  so  had  slavery,  originally  the 
most  savage  abuse  of  ethnic  morality,  come  to  be  dif¬ 
ferently  understood  and  differently  defended.  The 
servile  condition  has  a  natural  tendency  to  degrade 
human  nature  ;  of  the  slaves  of  antiquity  a  large  pro¬ 
portion  belonged  originally  to  the  lowest  and  rudest 
nations ;  and  from  these  two  causes  it  was  a  patent 
and  undeniable  fact  that  the  slave  population  was  in 
an  incalculable  degree  inferior  to  the  free.  It  might 
reasonably  be  considered  rebellion  against  an  ordi¬ 
nance  of  nature  to  give  freedom  to  those  who  appeared 
so  little  fit  for  it ;  and  if  it  seems  to  us  a  false  and 
cruel  argument  to  turn  the  consequence  of  slavery  into 
a  justification  of  it,  and  to  pronounce  the  slave  natu¬ 
rally  incapable  of  liberty  because  he  had  been  artifi¬ 
cially  incapacitated  for  it,  yet  we  must  remember  that 
the  social  speculations  of  antiquity  were  seldom  dic¬ 
tated  by  philanthropy,  and  we  must  not  expect  the 
refined  tenderness  of  adult  Christianity  from  its  earli¬ 
est  developments. 

False  and  cruel  to  a  certain  extent  the  argument 
was ;  but  if  the  earliest  Christian  teachers  had  rejected 
it  absolutely,  and  inferred  from  their  Master’s  Law  of 
Comprehension  that  all  men  are  not  only  to  be  re¬ 
spected  alike,  but  to  be  treated  in  the  same  manner, 
put  in  possession  of  the  same  privileges,  directed  to 
seek  happiness  in  the  same  pursuits,  they  would  have 
run  into  the  opposite  extreme.  Christ  declares  all 
men  alike  to  be  the  sons  of  God,  and  the  least  of  man* 
lund  he  adopts  as  a  brother.  By  doing  so  he  makes 
all  mankind  equal  to  this  extent,  that  the  interests  and 


THE  CHRISTIAN  REPUBLIC.  1 53 

the  happiness  of  all  members  of  the  race  are  declared 
to  be  of  equal  importance.  But  he  does  not  declare 
them  to  be  equally  gifted.  Each  individual  is  equally 
entitled  to  whatever  dignity  he  is  capable  of  support¬ 
ing  ;  but  the  early  Church,  at  least,  was  in  possession 
of  no  proof  that  all  men  are  equally  capable  of  sus¬ 
taining  the  dignity  of  a  free  condition.  If  this  dis 
covery  has  been  made  since,  there  was  at  that  time 
nothing  that  could  suggest  it.  Dependence  and  sub¬ 
jection  were  then  regarded  as  the  natural  condition  of 
women ;  the  son  under  the  Roman  law  was  literally 
his  father’s  slave,  incapable  of  owning  a  penny  of  per¬ 
sonal  property,  even  though  he  might  have  held  the 
highest  honors  of  the  state.  And  if  such  appeared  to 
the  Roman  jurists  to  be  a  natural  ordinance,  even  when 
there  was  no  visible  inferiority  between  the  father  and 
the  son  who  was  thus  enslaved  to  him,  who  could  ques¬ 
tion  that  the  slave  population,  visibly  characterized  by 
all  the  faults,  vices,  and  deficiencies  that  make  men 
unfit  for  freedom,  were  intended  by  nature  to  live 
under  the  control  of  those  whom  she  had  made  wise 
and  intelligent? 

In  the  Universal  Republic  therefore,  while  in  one 
sense  there  were  no  slaves,  in  another  sense  slavery 
was  admitted.  The  position  given  to  the  outcast  class 
was  what  we  may  call  citizenship  without  emancipa¬ 
tion.  Their  welfare  was  regarded  as  not  less  impor¬ 
tant  than  that  of  the  most  exalted.  They  were  Christ’s 
brothers,  and  he  had  pronounced  the  solemn  sentence, 
4  Whoso  offendeth  one  of  these  little  ones  that  believe 
in  me,  it  were  better  for  him  that  a  mill-stone  should 
be  hanged  round  his  neck,  and  that  he  should  be  cast 

7* 


*54 


ECCE  HOMO. 


into  the  depths  of  the  sea.’  This  sentence  contained 
the  abolition  of  all  the  horrible  usages  of  ancient 
slavery,  the  tortures  of  the  ergastulum,  the  gladiatorial 
show.  But,  notwithstanding,  the  slave  was  left  under 
a  control  which  might  be  harsh  and  rigorous,  if  harsh¬ 
ness  and  rigor  appear  necessary,  because  it  was  be¬ 
lieved  that  men  were  called  to  different  offices  in  life, 
and  that  while  it  was  the  glory  and  dignity  of  some  to 
feel  nothing  between  themselves  and  God,  to  others  it 
was  given  only  to  see  God  reflected  in  wiser  and 
nobler  spirits  than  themselves. 


*55 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  CHRISTIAN  A  LAW  TO  HIMSELF. 

OUR  investigation  has  led  us  to  three  conclusions 
respecting  Christ’s  legislation  :  —  i,  that  he  does 
not  direct  us  to  adopt  a  private  or  isolated  rule  of  life, 
but  to  occupy  ourselves  with  the  affairs  of  the  society ; 
2,  that  he  expects  us  to  merge  our  private  interests 
absolutely  in  those  of  this  society ;  3,  that  this  society 
is  not  exclusive,  but  catholic  or  universal  —  that  is, 
that  all  mankind  have  a  right  to  admission  to  it.  Or 
we  should  rather  say  readmission,  for  Christ  does  not 
regard  the  society  as  new,  but  rather  as  one  which  had 
subsisted  from  the  beginning  in  the  Maker’s  plan,  but 
had  been  broken  up  through  the  jealousies  and  narrow¬ 
ness  of  men.  For  this  reason,  though  baptism  is  the 
essential  condition  of  membership,  yet  those  who  re¬ 
fuse  baptism  are  not  to  be  treated  as  the  foreigner 
would  be  treated  under  the  system  of  ethnic  morality, 
but  to  be  pitied  as  feliow-citizens  who  madly  refuse  to 
take  up  their  birthright,  to  be  abandoned  only  after 
their  perverseness  has  shown  itself  incorrigible,  and 
even  then  not  to  be  punished,  but  left  to  the  judgment 
of  God. 

A  universal  society,  then,  being  founded,  and  a  life 
strictly  social  and  civic  being  enjoined  upon  its  mem¬ 
bers,  by  what  rule  is  this  social  life  to  be  guided? 


ECCK  HOMO 


l56 

How  are  Christians  to  behave  towards  each  other? 
This  question  must  be  carefully  separated  from  others 
which  naturally  connect  themselves  with  it.  We  are 
not  now  concerned  with  the  constitution  of  the  society, 
its  system  of  magistrates  and  public  assemblies  — 
questions  which  in  fact  Christ  left  entirely  to  the 
decision  of  the  society  itself.  Nor  do  we  here  con¬ 
sider  the  injunctions  which  he  laid  upon  them,  so  to 
speak,  as  a  politician  —  for  example,  concerning  the 
way  in  which  they  were  to  comport  themselves  towards 
the  governments  of  the  earth,  or  what  they  were  to  do 
in  times  of  persecution.  Nor  are  we  concerned  at 
present  with  the  theology  of  the  society,  nor  with  its 
relation  to  God  and  Christ.  When,  however,  we  have 
gone  through  the  recorded  discourses  and  sayings  ot 
Christ,  and  eliminated  everything  in  them  referring  to 
theology,  or  the  occasional  duties  of  the  society,  or 
arising  out  of  the  polemic  in  which  Christ  occasionally 
engaged  with  the  Jewish  doctors,  we  may  be  surprised 
to  find  how  small  is  the  residue  which  contains  his 
system  of  morality.  The  truth  is  that  he  did  not  leave 
a  code  of  morals  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word  — 
that  is,  an  enumeration  of  actions  prescribed  and  pro¬ 
hibited.  Two  or  three  prohibitions,  two  or  three  com¬ 
mands,  he  is  indeed  recorded  to  have  delivered,  but  on 
the  greater  number  of  questions  on  which  men  require 
moral  guidance  he  has  left  no  direction  whatever. 

.Are  we  then,  after  being  brought  together  into  a 
universal  society,  left  without  a  rule  by  which  to  guide 
our  intercourse  in  this  society?  Not  so;  we  are  to 
consider  what  is  the  origin  of  laws  in  human  commu¬ 
nities.  They  arise  from  a  certain  instinct  in  human 


THE  CHRISTIAN  A  LAW  TO  HIMSELF.  1 57 

nature,  which  it  is  not  necessary  here  to  analyze,  but 
which  supports  itself  by  a  constant  struggle  against 
other  anarchic  and  lawless  instincts,  and  which  is  so 
far  the  same  in  all  men  that  all  the  systems  of  law 
which  have  ever  appeared  among  men  are,  in  certain 
grand  features,  alike.  This  we  may  call  the  law* 
making  power  in  men.  Now  any  one  set  to  organise  * 
a  new  community,  if  he  had  it  in  his  power  either  to 
deliver  an  elaborate  and  minute  code  of  rules  to  the 
community,  or  to  increase  indefinitely  the  law-making 
power  in  each  member  of  it,  would  certainly  without 
hesitation  choose  the  latter  course.  For,  not  to  speak 
of  the  trouble  that  would  be  saved  both  in  compiling 
the  code  at  first  and  in  remodelling  it  as  new  circum¬ 
stances  demanded  new  provisions,  the  morality  of  the 
citizens  would  be  of  a  much  higher  and  more  vital 
kind  if  they  could  be  made,  as  it  were,  a  law  to  them¬ 
selves,  and  could  always  hear,  in  the  language  of 
Hebrew  poetry,  a  voice  behind  them  saying,  4  This  is 
the  way,  walk  ye  in  it.’ 

Now  this  was  what  Christ  undertook  to  do.  Instead 
of  giving  laws  to  his  Society,  he  would  give  to  every 
member  of  it  a  power  of  making  laws  for  himself. 
He  frequently  repeated  that  to  make  the  fruit  of  a  tree 
good  you  must  put  the  tree  into  a  healthy  state,  and, 
slightly  altering  the  illustration,  that  fruit  can  only  be 
expected  from  a  fruit-tree,  not  from  a  thistle  or  thorn. 
The  meaning  of  this  plainly  is  that  a  man’s  actions 
result  from  the  state  of  his  mind  ;  that  if  that  is  healthy 
they  will  be  right,  and  if  not,  they  will  be  wrong. 
Such  language  was  new  in  the  mouth  of  a  legislator, 
but  not  at  all  new  in  itself.  It  was  an  adoption  oi  the 


*58 


ECCE  HOMO. 


style  of  philosophy.  Philosophers  had  always  made 
it  their  study  to  bring  their  minds  into  a  healthy  con¬ 
dition,  1 frui  emeiidato  animo .’  When,  however,  we 
inquire  what  Christ  considered  a  healthy  condition  of 
the  mind  to  be,  we  do  not  find  him  in  agreement  with 
philosophers.  The  law-making  power  of  which  men¬ 
tion  has  been  made,  which,  raised  to  predominance, 
issues  in  an  unerring  tact  or  instinct  of  right  action, 
was  differently  conceived  by  him  and  by  them.  They 
placed  it  in  reason,  and  regarded  passion  as  the  antag¬ 
onistic  power  which  must  be  controlled  and  coerced 
by  it.  Christ  also  considers  it  necessary  to  control  the 
passions,  but  he  places  them  under  the  dominion  not 
of  reason  but  of  a  new  and  more  powerful  passion. 
The  healthy  mind  of  the  philosophers  is  in  a  com¬ 
posed,  tranquil,  and  impartial  state ;  the  healthy  mind 
of  Christ  is  in  an  elevated  and  enthusiastic  state. 
Both  are  exempt  from  perturbation  and  unsteadiness, 
but  the  one  by  being  immovably  fixed,  the  other  by 
being  always  powerfully  attracted  in  one  direction. 

This  is  collected  from  the  following  facts.  Christ 
was  once  asked  to  pronounce  which  commandment  in 
the  law  was  the  greatest.  He  answered  by  quoting  a 
sentence  from  the  Book  of  Deuteronomy,  in  which  de- 
x’oted  love  to  God  and  man  is  solemnly  enjoined  upon 
the  Israelite,  and  by  declaring  that  upon  this  com¬ 
mandment  the  whole  Mosaic  and  prophetic  legislation 
depended.  In  other  words,  he  declared  an  ardent, 
passionate,  or  devoted  state  of  mind  to  be  the  root  of 
virtue.  Again,  he  directed  one  who  declared  that  he 
had  kept  all  the  commandments  and  asked  what  re¬ 
mained  for  him  to  do,  if  he  would  be  perfect,  to  sell 


THE  CHRISTIAN  A  LAW  TO  HIMSELF.  1 59 

all  his  goods  and  give  them  to  the  poor,  and  devote 
himself  to  the  kingdom  of  God.  What  does  this  im¬ 
ply  but  that  the  morality  which  is  sound  must  be  no 
mere  self-restraint,  no  mechanical  movement  within 
prescribed  rules,  no  mere  punctiliousness,  but  ardent 
and  active,  exceeding  duty  and  outstripping  require¬ 
ment?  He  taught  the  same  doctrine  in  a  striking 
form  when  he  bade  his  followers  exhibit  their  virtue 
conspicuously,  so  that  all  might  see  it  and  none  might 
mistake  it.  They  were  to  be,  he  said,  a  city  set  on  a 
hill,  a  candle  set  on  a  candlestick  and  lighting  the 
whole  room,  salt  with  a  strong  taste  in  it.  These 
exhortations  are  peculiarly  striking,  because  no  teacher 
has  ever  insisted  more  strongly  than  Christ  on  the 
unobtrusive  character  of  true  virtue.  We  are  not,  he 
says,  to  sound  a  trumpet  before  us  ;  if  we  would  pray 
we  are  to  go  into  a  closet  and  shut  the  door  behind 
us ;  we  are  to  do  good  by  stealth  ;  our  left  hand  is  not 
to  know  what  our  right  hand  does.  These  two  sets 
of  injunctions  appear,  as  is  often  the  case  in  the  many- 
sided  wisdom  of  Christ,  to  be  in  direct  contradiction 
to  each  other.  But  they  are  not  really  so ;  if  taken 
together  there  results  from  them  the  following  per¬ 
fectly  clear  and  consistent  doctrine :  True  goodness 
does  not  study  to  attract  attention  ;  nevertheless,  wher¬ 
ever  it  appears,  such  is  the  warmth,  fire,  and  energy 
inherent  in  it,  that  it  does  and  must  attract  attention. 
And  so  strongly  does  Christ  feel  this,  that  he  solemnly 
declares  the  virtue  which  does  not  make  itself  felt  and 
recognized  to  be  wrorth  nothing.  If  the  very  salt  have 
lost  its  taste,  wrhat  remains?  *it  is  good  for  nothing  but 
to  be  thrown  away  and  trodden  under  foot. 


l6o  ECCE  HOMO. 

All  other  faults  or  deficiencies  he  could  tolerate,  but 
he  could  have  neither  part  nor  lot  with  men  destitute 
of  enthusiasm.  He  thought  it  a  bad,  almost  a  fatal 
sign,  in  one  who  proposed  to  become  a  disciple  that 
he  asked  leave  hist  to  bid  farewell  to  his  relations. 
Another  asked  permission  to  bury  his  father,  and  was 
advised  to  let  the  dead  (that  is,  those  whose  hearts 
were  not  animated  by  any  strong  passion  or  impulse) 
bury  thei:  dead.  And  once  when  it  seemed  that  the 
magic  of  his  presence  and  words  would  draw  his 
entire  audience  into  the  number  of  his  followers, 
alarmed  lest  he  should  find  himself  surrounded  by 
half-hearted  or  superficial  and  merely  excitable  ad¬ 
herents,  he  turned  suddenly  upon  the  crowd,  and  with 
one  of  those  startling  expressions  which  he  seldom, 
and  yet  like  all  great  reformers  sometimes,  employed, 
declared  that  he  could  receive  no  man  who  did  not 
hate  his  father  and  mother  and  his  own  life. 

These  passages  will  help  us  to  understand  the  alle¬ 
gory  of  the  strong  man  armed  keeping  secure  posses¬ 
sion  of  his  palace  until  he  is  expelled  by  a  stronger 
than  himself.  The  strong  man  armed  is  the  anarchic 
passions  of  human  nature,  against  which  the  law¬ 
making  power  contends.  Nothing  can  control  them, 
says  Christ,  but  a  stronger  passion  still.  And  he  goes 
on  to  explain  that  an  empty  condition  of  mind,  a 
quiescence  or  temporary  absence  of  the  anarchic  pas¬ 
sion,  is  a  hollow  and  dangerous  state.  The  demon 
may  leave  his  abode  for  a  time,  but  he  finds  no  suste¬ 
nance  abroad,  and  so  at  last  back  he  comes  hungry 
and  brings  congenial  guosts  with  him. 

It  was  fully  understood  in  the  early  Church  that  this 


THF  CHRISTIAN  A  LAW  TO  HIMSELF.  l6l 

enthusiastic  or  elevated  condition  of  mind  was  the  dis¬ 
tinctive  and  essential  maik  of  a  Christian.  St.  Paul, 
having  asked  some  converts  whether  they  had  received 
this  divine  inspiration  since  their  conversion,  and  re¬ 
ceiving  lor  answer  that  they  had  not  heard  there  was 
any  sucii  divine  inspiration  abroad,  demanded  in 
amazement  what  then  they  had  been  baptized  into. 

Befoie  we  investigate  the  nature  of  the  enthusiasm 
or  divine  inspiration  which  Christ  proposed  to  kindle 
in  the  minds  of  his  disciples,  let  us  consider  what  is 
involved  in  the  fact  that  he  made  morality  dependent 
upon  such  an  enthusiasm,  and  not  upon  any  activity 
of  the  reasoning  power.  It  is  the  essence  of  morality 
to  place  a  restraint  upon  our  natural  desires  in  such  a 
manner  that  in  certain  cases  we  refrain  from  doing 
that  which  we  have  a  natural  desire  to  do,  or  force 
ourselves  to  do  that  to  which  we  feel  a  repugnance. 
Now,  he  who  refrains  from  gratifying  a  wish  on  some 
ground  of  reason,  at  the  same  time  feels  the  wish  as 
strongly  as  if  he  gratified  it.  The  object  seems  to  him 
desirable,  he  cannot  think  of  it  without  wishing  for  it ; 
he  can,  indeed,  force  his  mind  not  to  dwell  upon  the 
object  of  desire,  but  so  long  as  the  mind  dwells  upon 
it  so  long  it  desires  it.  On  the  other  hand,  when  a 
stronger  passion  controls  a  weaker,  the  weaker  alto¬ 
gether  ceases  to  be  felt.  For  example,  let  us  suppose 
two  men,  one  of  whom  has  learnt  and  believes  that  he 
owes  fidelity  to  his  country,  but  has  no  ardor  of  patri¬ 
otism,  and  the  other  an  enthusiastic  patriot.  Suppose 
a  bribe  offered  to  these  two  men  to  betray  their  coun< 
try.  Neither  will  take  the  bribe.  But  the  former,  if 
we  suppose  the  bribe  large  enough,  will  feel  his  fingers 


It>2 


5 


ECCE  HOMO. 


itch  as  he  handles  the  gold  ;  his  mind  will  run  upon 
the  advantages  it  would  bring  him,  the  things  he  might 
buy,  the  life  he  might  lead,  if  he  had  the  money ;  he 
will  find  it  prudent  to  divert  his  mind  from  the  subject, 
to  plunge  desperately  into  occupations  which  may  ab** 
sorb  him  until  the  time  of  temptation  has  passed.  The 
other  will  have  no  such  feelings ;  the  gold  will  not 
make  his  fingers  itch  with  desire,  but  perhaps  rather 
seem  to  scorch  them ;  he  will  not  picture  to  himself 
happiness  or  pleasure  as  a  consequence  of  taking  it, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  insupportable  degradation  and 
despair ;  his  mind  will  need  no  distraction,  it  will  be 
perfectly  at  ease  however  long  the  period  of  temptation 
may  continue. 

The  difference  between  the  men  is  briefly  this,  that 
the  one  has  his  anarchic  or  lower  desires  under  con¬ 
trol,  the  other  feels  no  such  desires  ;  the  one,  so  far  as 
he  is  virtuous,  is  incapable  of  crime,  the  other,  so  far 
as  he  is  virtuous,  is  incapable  of  temptation. 

Now,  as  Christ  demands  virtue  of  the  latter  or  en¬ 
thusiastic  kind,  we  shall  be  prepared  to  find  that  he 
prohibits  evil  desires  as  well  as  wrong  acts.  Accord¬ 
ingly,  it  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  features  of  his 
moral  teaching  that  he  does  not  command  us  to  regu¬ 
late  or  control  our  unlawful  desires,  but  pronounces  it 
unlawful  to  have  such  desires  at  all.  A  considerable 
part  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  is  devoted  to  the  ex¬ 
position  of  this  doctrine.  Christ  quotes  several  pro¬ 
hibitions  from  the  Mosaic  law,  and  proceeds  to  declare 
the  desire  from  which  each  prohibited  act  springs 
equally  culpable  with  the  act  itself.  This  is  at  first 
sight  perplexing,  because  the  desire  out  of  which  an 


THE  CHRISTIAN  A  LAW  TO  HIMSELF.  163 

unlawful  act  springs  is  often  or  generally  a  mere  nat¬ 
ural  appetite  which  in  itself  is  perfectly  innocent.  The 
truth  is,  that  Christ  requires  that  such  natural  appetite, 
when  the  gratification  of  it  would  be  unlawful,  be  not 
merely  left  ungratified,  but  altogether  destroyed,  and  a 
feeling  of  aversion  substituted  for  it  by  the  enthusiasm 
of  virtue  within  the  soul. 

This  higher  form  of  goodness,  though  of  course  it 
had  existed  among  the  heathen  nations,  yet  had  never 
among  them  been  sufficiently  distinguished  from  the 
lower  to  receive  a  separate  name.  The  earliest  Chris¬ 
tians,  like  the  Christians  of  later  times,  felt  a  natural 
repugnance  to  describe  the  ardent  enthusiastic  good¬ 
ness  at  which  they  aimed  by  the  name  of  virtue.  This 
name  suited  exactly  the  kind  of  goodness  which  Christ 
expressly  commanded  them  to  rise  above.  They  there¬ 
fore  adopted  another.  Regarding  the  ardor  they  felt 
as  an  express  inspiration  or  spiritual  presence  of  God 
within  them,  they  borrowed  from  the  language  of  re¬ 
ligious  worship  a  word  for  which  our  equivalent  is 
4  holy  and  the  inspiring  power  they  consistently  called 
the  Spirit  of  Holiness  or  the  Holy  Spirit.  Accord¬ 
ingly,  while  a  virtuous  man  is  one  who  controls  and 
coerces  the  anarchic  passions  within  him  so  as  to  con- 
foi  m  his  actions  to  law,  a  holy  man  is  one  in  whom  a 
passionate  enthusiasm  absorbs  and  annuls  the  anarchic 
passions  altogether,  so  that  no  internal  struggle  takes 
place,  and  the  lawful  action  is  that  which  presents  it¬ 
self  first  and  seems  the  one  most  natural  and  most  easy 
to  be  done. 

But  now,  of  what  nature  is  the  enthusiasm  Christ 
requires?  We  have  seen  that  a  particular  passion  may 


164 


ECCE  HOMO. 


raise  a  man  above  a  particular  sin.  The  enthusiastic 
patriot  is  incapable  of  treason.  He  who  passionately 
loves  one  woman  may  be  made  by  that  love  incapable 
of  a  licentious  thought ;  and  an  elevated  self-love  may 
make  it  impossible  for  a  man  to  lie.  But  these  pas¬ 
sions  are  partial  in  their  operation.  The  patriot,  in¬ 
capable  of  public  treason,  may  be  capable  of  private 
treachery.  The  chaste  man  may  be  a  traitor.  The 
honest  man  may  be  cruel.  What  is  the  passion,  if 
such  a  passion  there  be,  which  can  lift  a  man  clean 
out  of  all  sin  whatever? 

As  it  has  been  shown  that  Christ  founded  a  society 
the  peculiarity  of  which  is  that  it  was  intended  to  in¬ 
clude  the  whole  human  race,  it  may  occur  to  us  that 
the  esprit  de  corps  which  would  naturally  spring  up 
in  such  a  society  may  be  the  passion  we  seek.  It 
would  be  a  passion  of  the  same  nature  as  patriotism, 
but  without  its  exclusiveness.  For  the  patriot,  though 
incapable  of  injuring  his  own  country,  is  not  less  but 
perhaps  more  capable  of  being  unjust  or  treacherous 
towards  foreign  nations,  while  the  Christian  patriot, 
whose  country  is  the  world,  will,  it  may  be  supposed, 
be  equally  incapable  of  wrong-doing  towards  all  alike. 

But  it  must  be  remembered  that  an  enthusiastic  at¬ 
tachment  to  a  state  or  a  community  is  very  different 
from  an  attachment  to  the  members  of  that  community. 
The  patriot,  it  has  just  been  said,  is  not  by  any  means 
above  the  temptation  to  private  injustice  or  treachery, 
nor  will  he  become  more  so  when  his  country  is  the 
world.  An  example  was  given  in  the  first  French 
Revolution  of  the  operation  of  this  passion  of  universal 
patriotism.  It  wTas  in  the  cause  not  so  much  of  France 


THE  CHRISTIAN  A  LAW  TO  HIMSELF.  1 65 

as  of  universal  man  that  the  revolutionary  party  agi¬ 
tated  and  fought,  and  they  displayed  a  disregard  of 
private  rights  and  individual  happiness  quite  as  catho¬ 
lic  as  their  philanthropy.  Universal  patriotism,  taken 
by  itself,  is  not  Christianity  but  Jacobinism. 

The  all-purifying  passion  must,  it  is  plain,  be  a  pas¬ 
sion  for  individuals.  Let  us  imagine,  then,  a  love  for 
every  human  being.  This  answers  the  conditions  of 
the  problem  to  this  extent,  that  he  who  loves  every¬ 
body  will  of  course  willingly  injure  nobody,  that  is, 
will  not  commit  sin.  And  if,  leaving  conjecture,  we 
turn  again  to  Christ’s  discourses,  we  find  him,  as  it  ap¬ 
pears,  mentioning  this  very  passion  as  the  essence  of 
all  legislation,  or  as  what  we  called  above  the  law¬ 
making  power  in  man.  The  great  commandment  of 
the  law,  he  says,  is  to  love  God  with  all  your  heart  and 
your  neighbor  as  yourself  \  and  the  maxim  for  practice 
corresponding  to  this  law  of  feeling  is,  ‘  Do  unto  others 
as  you  would  that  they  should  do  to  you.’ 

Here  then,  it  appears,  is  our  panacea  for  all  diseases 
of  the  soul ;  here  is  that  passion  which  once  conceived 
in  the  breast  is  to  make  laws  superfluous,  to  redeem 
our  nature,  to  make  4  our  days  bright  and  serene,  love 
being  an  unerring  light  and  joy  its  own  security.’  We 
are  to  love  every  human  being  alike.  The  discovery, 
it  cannot  be  concealed,  seems  rather  an  empty  one. 
We  will  not  at  present  inquire  where  are  the  agencies 
which  are  to  excite  in  us  so  strange  a  passion :  men  dc 
conceive  strange  attachments  ;  they  learn,  for  example, 
to  love  their  country,  though  it  seems  surprising  that 
such  an  abstraction  should  excite  so  much  interest. 
But  is  not  the  feeling  now  enjoined  upon  us  one 


ECCE  HOMO. 


1 66 

plainly  impossible  because  self-contradictory?  There 
exist  men  of  opposite  qualities.  Love  is  a  name  we 
give  to  a  feeling  aroused  in  us  by  certain  qualities,  and 
hatred  is  the  feeling  aroused  by  qualities  of  the  oppo¬ 
site  kind.  How  then  is  it  possible  to  love  at  the  same 
time  persons  of  opposite  qualities? 

Obvious  and  forcible  as  this  objection  seems,  there 
is  something  in  us  which  rebels  against  it  as  soon  as  it 
is  stated.  Manifest  as  it  may  seem  that  we  can  only 
love  what  is  lovely,  and  that  what  is  hateful  must,  in 
the  nature  of  things,  be  hated,  we  are  yet  aware  that 
practically  our  feelings  towards  our  fellow-creatures 
are  more  complex.  It  is  not  merely  that  almost  all 
men  have  qualities  we  can  love  even  when  the  hateful 
qualities  preponderate,  nor  merely  that  we  are  con¬ 
scious  how  our  self-interest  makes  many  things  hateful 
to  us  which  are  not  hateful  in  themselves  and  would 
not  be  so  to  us  if  our  self-love  were  diminished  or  at 
rest,  but  even  in  the  extreme  case,  when  our  hatred 
seems  most  just  and  necessary,  when  monsters  appear 
in  the  form  of  man  whose  crimes  strike  us  with  horror, 
even  for  such  we  sometimes  detect  in  ourselves  a  feel¬ 
ing  opposite  to  hatred.  When  they  fall  into  calamity 
and  death,  a  feeling  of  awe,  ay,  of  pity,  mixes  with 
our  rejoicing.  Even  in  primitive  times,  when  men’s 
feelings  towards  each  other  were  for  the  most  part 
simple  and  clear,  when  hatred  was  unmixed  and  had 
not  begun  to  lose  its  ‘  raven  gloss’  we  find  these  pangs 
of  tenderness.  When  the  housekeeper  Euryclea  was 
admitted  by  Ulysses  into  the  hall  where  the  oppressors 
of  the  house  lay  slaughtered,  her  first  impulse,  woman 
though  she  was  —  such  was  the  fierceness  of  the  time 


THE  CHRISTIAN  A  LAW  TO  HIMSELF.  167 

—  was  to  utter  a  shout  of  triumph.  But  the  hei  o 
stopped  her  and  said,  4  Rejoice  in  silence,  woman, 
and  restrain  thyself,  and  utter  no  shout :  it  is  not 
right  to  triumph  over  slaughtered  men.’ 

If  we  consider  these  singular  relentings,  the  thoughts 
with  which  they  are  accompanied,  and  the  words 
in  which  they  most  naturally  express  themselves, 
we  shall  find  that  it  is  the  ideal  of  man  in  each 
man  which  calls  them  forth.  When  we  think  of  the 
fallen  criminal  or  tyrant  we  say,  4  He  too  was  once  an 
innocent  child,’  or  4  Who  knows  what  he  might  have 
been  had  circumstances  been  more  favorable  or  temp¬ 
tation  less !  ’  In  thoughts  like  these  we  betray  that 
there  is  a  third  kind  of  love  which  we  may  bear  to 
our  fellow-creatures,  and  which  is  neither  that  love  of 
the  whole  race  which  has  been  'called  above  Jacobin¬ 
ism,  nor  that  independent  love  of  each  individual 
which  appears  impossible  when  we  consider  that 
different  individuals  exhibit  opposite  qualities.  This 
third  feeling  is  the  love  not  of  the  race  nor  of  the  in¬ 
dividual,  but  of  the  race  in  the  individual ;  it  is  the 
love  not  of  all  men  nor  yet  of  every  man,  but  of  the 
man  in  every  man. 

This  ought  not  to  be  regarded  as  a  mere  Platonic 
dream.  Though  it  finds  expression  most  easily  and 
naturally  in  Platonic  language,  it  is  in  reality  one  of 
the  most  hackneyed  and  familiar  of  truths.  There  is 
a  fellow-feeling,  a  yearning  of  kindness  towards  a 
human  being  as  such,  which  is  not  dependent  upon 
the  character  of  the  particular  human  being  who  ex¬ 
cites  it,  but  rises  before  that  character  displays  itself, 
and  does  not  at  once  or  altogether  subside  when  it 


ECCE  HOMO. 


1 68 

exhibits  itself  as  unamiable.  We  save  a  man  from 
drowning  whether  he  is  amiable  or  the  contrary,  and 
we  should  consider  it  right  to  do  so  even  though  we 
knew  him  to  be  a  very  great  criminal,  simply  because 
he  is  a  man.  Bv  examples  like  this  we  may  discover 
that  a  love  for  humanity  as  such  exists,  and  that  it  is  a 
natural  passion  which  would  be  universal  if  special 
causes  did  not  extinguish  it  in  special  cases,  but  like 
all  other  human  passions,  it  may  be  indefinitely  in¬ 
creased  and  purified  by  training  and  by  extraordinary 
agencies  that  may  be  brought  to  bear  upon  it.  Now 
this  was  the  passion  upon  which  Christ  seized,  and 
treating  it  as  the  law-making  power  or  root  of 
morality  in  human  nature,  trained  and  developed  it 
into  that  Christian  spirit  which  received  the  new 
name  of  by  Any. 

The  objection  is  then  removed  which  represents 
Christ’s  rule  of  universal  love  as  impracticable  be¬ 
cause  different  men  may  exhibit  ojaposite  qualities, 
for  it  is  shown  that  there  is  a  kind  of  love  which 
may  be  felt  for  unamiable  persons.  And  though 
it  must  be  admitted  that  there  is  an  extreme  decree 

O 

of  unamiability  which  quenches  this  love  in  us,  yet 
it  is  conceivable  that  when  the  passion  has  been 
zultivated  and  strengthened  by  the  means  which 
Christ  may  employ,  it  may  become  a  passion  in  the 
strictest  sense  all-embracing.  What  these  means 
were,  and  what  character  the  passion  assumes  in  its 
full  development,  it  is  now  necessary  to  consider. 


169 


CHAPTER  XIV* 

THE  ENTHUSIASM  OF  HUMANITY. 


HE  first  method  of  training  this  passion  which 


Christ  employed  was  the  direct  one  of  making 
it  a  point  of  duty  to  feel  it.  To  love  one’s  neighboi 
as  one’s  self  was,  he  said,  the  first  and  greatest  law. 
And  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  he  requires  the 
passion  to  be  felt  in  such  strength  as  to  include 
those  whom  we  have  most  reason  to  hate  —  our 
enemies  and  those  who  maliciously  injure  us  —  and 
delivers  an  imperative  precept,  4  Love  your  enemies.’ 

It  has  been  shown  that  to  do  this  is  not,  as  might  at 
first  appear,  in  the  nature  of  things  impossible,  but 
the  further  question  suggests  itself,  Can  it  be  done  to 
order?  Has  the  verb  to  love  really  an  imperative 
mood  ?  Certainly,  to  say  that  we  can  love  at  pleas¬ 
ure,  and  by  a  mere  effort  of  will  summon  up  a  passion 
which  does  not  arise  of  itself,  is  to  take  up  a  para¬ 
doxical  and  novel  position.  Yet  if  this  position  be 
really  untenable,  how  is  it  possible  to  obey  Christ’s 
command  ? 

The  difficulty  seems  to  admit  of  only  one  solution. 
We  are  not  commanded  to  create  by  an  effort  of  will 
a  feeling  of  love  in  ourselves  which  otherwise  would 
have  had  no  existence  ;  the  feeling  must  arise  naturally 
or  it  cannot  arise  at  all.  But  a  number  of  causes 


8 


ECCE  HOMO. 


170 

which  aie  removable  may  interfere  to  prevent  the  feel¬ 
ing  from  arising  or  to  stifle  it  as  it  arises,  and  we  are 
commanded  to  remove  these  hinderances.  It  is  natural 
to  man  to  love  his  kind,  and  Christ  commands  us  only 
to  give  nature  play.  He  does  not  expect  us  to  procure 
for  ourselves  hearts  of  some  new  supernatural  texture, 
but  merely  the  heart  of  flesh  for  the  heart  of  stone. 

What,  then,  are  the  causes  of  this  paralysis  of  the 
heart?  The  experience  of  human  life  furnishes  us 
readily  with  the  answer.  It  constantly  happens  that 
one  whose  affections  were  originally  not  less  lively 
than  those  of  most  men  is  thrown  into  the  society  of 
persons  destitute  of  sympathy  or  tenderness.  In  this 
society  each  person  is  either  totally  indifferent  to  his 
neighbor  or  secretly  endeavoring  to  injure  or  over¬ 
reach  him.  The  new-comer  is  at  first  open-hearted 
and  cordial ;  he  presumes  every  one  he  meets  to  be  a 
friend,  and  is  disposed  to  serve  and  expects  to  be 
served  by  all  alike.  But  his  advances  are  met  by  some 
with  cautious  reserve,  by  others  with  icy  coldness,  by 
others  with  hypocritical  warmth  followed  by  treach¬ 
erous  injury,  by  others  with  open  hostility.  The  heart 
which  naturally  grew  warm  at  the  mere  sight  of  a 
human  being,  under  the  operation  of  this  new  expe¬ 
rience  slowly  becomes  paralyzed.  There  seats  itself 
gradually  in  the  man’s  mind  a  presumption  concerning 
every  new  face  that  it  is  the  face  of  an  enemy,  and  a 
habit  of  gathering  himself  into  an  attitude  cf  self- 
defence  whenever  he  deals  with  a  fellow-creature.  If 
when  this  new  disposition  has  grown  confirmed  and 
habitual,  he  be  introduced  into  a  society  of  an  opposite 
kind  and  meet  with  people  as  friendly  and  kind  as  he 


THE  ENTHUSIASM  OF  HUMANITY.  171 

himself  was  originally,  he  will  not  at  first  be  able  to 
believe  in  their  sincerity,  and  the  old  kindly  affections 
from  long  disuse  will  be  slow  to  rouse  themselves 
within  him.  Now  to  such  a  person  the  imperative 
mood  of  the  verb  to  love  may  fairly  be  used.  He  may 
properly  be  told  to  make  an  effort,  to  shake  oft'  the 
distrust  that  oppresses  him,  not  to  suffer  unproved 
suspicions,  causeless  jealousies,  to  stifle  by  the  mere 
force  of  prejudice  and  mistaken  opinion  the  warmth 
of  feeling  natural  to  him. 

But  we  shall  have  a  closer  illustration  if  we  suppose 
the  cold-hearted  society  itself  to  be  addressed  by  a 
preacher  who  wishes  to  bring  them  to  a  better  mind. 
He  too  may  fairly  use  the  imperative  mood  of  the  verb 
to  love.  For  he  may  say,  ;  Your  mutual  coldness  does 
not  spring  from  an  original  want  of  the  power  of  sym¬ 
pathy.  If  it  did,  admonitions  would  indeed  be  use¬ 
less.  But  it  springs  from  a  habit  of  thought  which 
you  have  formed,  a  maxim  which  has  been  received 
among  you,  that  all  men  are  devoted  to  self-interest, 
that  kindness  is  but  feebleness  and  invites  injury.  If 
you  will  at  once  and  by  a  common  act  throw  off  this 
false  opinion  of  human  nature,  and  adopt  a  new  plan 
of  life  for  yourselves  and  new  expectations  of  each 
other,  you  will  find  the  old  affections  natural  to  all  of 
you,  weakened  indeed  and  chilled,  but  existing  and 
capable  of  being  revived  by  an  effort.’ 

Such  a  preacher  might  go  further  and  say,  4  If  but 
a  small  minority  are  convinced  by  my  words,  yet  let 
that  minority  for  itself  abandon  the  selfish  theory,  let 
it  renounce  the  safety  which  that  theory  affords  in 
dealing  with  selfish  men,  let  it  treat  the  enemy  as  if  he 


172 


ECCE  HOMO 


were  indeed  the  fr.end  he  ought  to  be,  let  it  dare  to 
forego  retaliation  and  even  self-defence.  By  this  means 
it  will  shame  many  into  kindness ;  by  despising  self- 
interest  for  itself  it  will  sometimes  make  it  seem  des¬ 
picable  to  others,  by  sincerity  and  persistency  it  will 
gradually  convert  the  majority  to  a  higher  law  of 
intercourse.’ 

The  world  has  been  always  more  or  less  like  this 
cold-hearted  society ;  the  natural  kindness  and  fellow- 
feeling  of  men  have  always  been  more  or  less  re¬ 
pressed  by  low-minded  maxims  and  cynicism.  But  in 
the  time  of  Christ,  and  in  the  last  decrepitude  of  ethnic 
morality,  the  selfishness  of  human  intercourse  was 
much  greater  than  the  present  age  can  easily  under¬ 
stand.  That  system  of  morality,  even  in  the  times 
when  it  was  powerful  and  in  many  respects  beneficial, 
had  made  it  almost  as  much  a  duty  to  hate  foreigners 
as  to  love  fellow-citizens.  Plato  congratulates  the 
Athenians  on  having  shown  in  their  relations  to  Persia, 
beyond  all  the  other  Greeks,  ‘  a  pure  and  heartfelt 
hatred  of  the  foreign  nature.’  *  Instead  of  opposing, 
it  had  sanctioned  and  consecrated  the  savage  instinct 
which  leads  us  to  hate  whatever  is  strange  or  unintel¬ 
ligible,  to  distrust  those  who  live  on  the  further  side  of 
a  river,  to  suppose  that  those  whom  we  hear  talking 
together  in  a  foreign  tongue  must  be  plotting  some 
mischief  against  ourselves.  The  lapse  of  time  and 


*  ovT(o  <5//  toi  to  yt  rrjs  Tr6?.fcos  y?vva7ov  icat  tXeiQc pov  fifficudv  te  kcli  vyii$ 
l<m  tail  tybofi  /jiitroflipPapov  81a  rd  elXiKpiv&s  e7vai  "KXXrjves  Kai  api* 

yiTs  /3ap(36p(i)v . aXX’  avrol  "E XXrjves,  ov  pii;ofiap(3apoi  obcovpev  3  0  f* 

xaO  a  pdv  rd  pTcros  f’vr  irrj  k  e  r  q  k  6  Xei  r  77  $  i X  X  or  p i a  s  <p  bo  (<D(. 
—  Plato,  Menexenus,  p.  245. 


THE  ENTHUSIASM  OF  HUMANITY. 


J73 


the  fusion  of  races  doubtless  diminished  this  antipathy 
considerably,  but  at  the  utmost  it  could  but  be  trans¬ 
formed  into  an  icy  indifference,  for  no  cause  was  in 
operation  to  convert  it  into  kindness.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  closeness  of  the  bond  which  united  fellow- 
citizens  was  considerably  relaxed.  Common  interests 
and  common  dangers  had  drawn  it  close  ;  these  in  the 
wide  security  of  the  Roman  Empire  had  no  longer  a 
place.  It  had  depended  upon  an  imagined  blood- 
relationship  ;  fellow-citizens  could  now  no  longer  feel 
themselves  to  be  united  by  the  tie  of  blood.  Every 
town  was  full  of  resident  aliens  and  emancipated 
slaves,  persons  between  whom  and  the  citizens  nature 
had  established  no  connection,  and  whose  presence  in 
the  city  had  originally  been  barely  tolerated  from 
motives  of  expediency.  The  selfishness  of  modern 
times  exists  in  defiance  of  morality,  in  ancient  times 
it  was  approved,  sheltered,  and  even  in  part  enjoined 
by  morality. 

We  are  therefore  to  consider  the  ancient  world  as  a 
society  of  men  in  whom  natural  humanity  existed  but 
had  been,  as  it  were,  crusted  or  frosted  over.  Invet¬ 
erate  feuds  and  narrow-minded  local  jealousies,  arising 
out  of  an  isolated  position  or  differences  of  language 
and  institutions,  had  created  endless  divisions  between 
man  and  man.  And  as  the  special  virtues  of  antiquity', 
patriotism  and  all  that  it  implies,  had  been  in  a  man¬ 
ner  caused  and  fostered  by  these  very  divisions,  they 
were  not  regarded  as  evils  but  rather  cherished  as 
essential  to  morality.  Selfishness,  therefore,  was  no! 
a  mere  abuse  or  corruption  arising  out  of  the  infirmity 
of  human  nature,  but  a  theory  and  almost  a  part  of 


<74 


ECCE  HOMO. 


moral  philosophy.  Humanity  was  cramped  by  a  mis* 
taken  prejudice,  by  a  perverse  presumption  of  the  in¬ 
tellect.  In  a  case  like  this  it  was  necessary  and  proper 
to  prescribe  humanity  by  direct  authoritative  precept. 
Such  a  precept  would  have  been  powerless  to  create 
the  feeling,  nor  would  it  have  done  much  to  protect  it 
from  being  overpowered  by  the  oppo-site  passion  ;  but 
the  opposite  passion  of  selfishness  was  at  this  period 
justified  by  authority  and  claimed  to  be  on  the  side  of 
reason  and  law.  Precept  is  fairly  matched  against 
precept,  and  what  the  law  of  love  and  the  golden  rule 
did  for  mankind  was  to  place  for  the  first  time  the  love 
of  man  as  man  distinctly  in  the  list  of  virtues,  to  dis¬ 
sipate  the  exclusive  prejudices  of  ethnic  morality,  and 
to  give  selfishness  the  character  of  sin. 

When  a  theory  of  selfishness  is  rife  in  a  whole  com¬ 
munity,  it  is  a  bold  and  hazardous  step  for  a  part  of 
the  community  to  abandon  it.  For  in  the  society  of 
selfish  people  selfishness  is  simply  self-defence ;  to  re¬ 
nounce  it  is  to  evacuate  one’s  intrenched  position,  to 
sui  render  at  discretion  to  the  enemy.  If  society  is  to 
disarm,  it  should  do  so  by  common  consent.  Christ, 
however,  though  he  confidently  expected  ultimately  to 
gather  all  mankind  into  his  society,  did  not  expect  to 
do  so  soon.  Accordingly  he  commands  his  followers 
not  to  wait  for  this  consummation,  but,  in  spite  of  the 
hazardous  nature  of  the  step,  to  disarm  at  once.  They 
are  sent  forth  ‘  as  sheep  in  the  midst  of  wolves/  In- 
juiies  they  are  to  expect,  but  they  are  neither  to  shun 
nor  to  retaliate  them.  Harmless  they  are  to  be  as 
doves.  The  discipline  of  suffering  will  wean  them 
more  and  more  from  self,  and  make  the  channels  of 


THE  ENTHUSIASM  OF  HUMANITY.  1 75 

humanity  freer  within  them ;  and  sometimes  their 
patience  may  shame  the  spoiler ;  he  may  grow  weary 
of  rapacity  which  meets  with  no  resistance,  and  be 
induced  to  envy  those  who  can  forego  without  reluc¬ 
tance  that  which  he  devotes  every  thought  to  acquire. 

But  we  shall  soon  be  convinced  that  Christ  could 
not  design  by  a  mere  edict,  however  authoritative,  to 
give  this  passion  of  humanity  strength  enough  to  make 
it  a  living  and  infallible  principle  of  morality  in  every 
man,  when  we  consider,  first,  what  an  ardent  enthu¬ 
siasm  he  demanded  from  his  followers,  and  secondly, 
how  frail  and  tender  a  germ  this  passion  naturally  is 
in  human  nature.  Widely  diffused  indeed  it  is,  and 
seldom  entirely  eradicated,  but  for  the  most  part,  at 
least  in  the  ancient  world,  it  was  crushed  under  a 
weight  of  predominant  passions  and  interests ;  it  had 
seldom  power  enough  to  dictate  any  action,  but  made 
itself  felt  in  faint  misgivings  and  relentings,  which 
sometimes  restrained  men  from  extremes  of  cruelty. 
Like  Enceladus  under  yHtna,  it  lay  fettered  at  the 
bottom  of  human  nature,  now  and  then  making  the 
mass  above  it  quake  by  an  uneasy  change  of  posture. 
To  make  this  outraged  and  enslaved  passion  predomi¬ 
nant,  to  give  it,  instead  of  a  veto  rarely  used,  the 
whole  power  of  government,  to  train  it  from  a  dim 
misgiving  into  a  clear  and  strong  passion,  required 
much  more  than  a  precept.  The  precept  had  its  use  ; 
it  could  make  men  feel  it  right  to  be  humane  and  de¬ 
sire  to  be  so,  but  it  could  never  inspire  them  with  an 
enthusiasm  of  humanity.  From  what  source  was  this 
inspiration  to  be  derived? 

Humanity,  we  have  already  observed,  is  neither  a 


176 


ECCE  HOMO. 


love  for  the  whole  human  race,  nor  a  love  for  each 
individual  of  it,  but  a  love  for  the  race,  or  for  the  ideal 
of  man,  in  each  individual.  In  other  and  less  pedan¬ 
tic  words,  he  who  is  truly  humane  considers  every 
human  being  as  such  interesting  and  important,  and 
without  waiting  to  criticise  each  individual  specimen, 
pays  in  advance  to  all  alike  the  tribute  of  good  wishes 
and  sympathy.  Now  this  favorable  presumption  with 
tegard  to  human  beings  is  not  a  causeless  preposses¬ 
sion,  it  is  no  idle  superstition  of  the  mind,  nor  is  it  a 
natural  instinct.  It  is  a  feeling  founded  on  the  actual 
observation  and  discovery  of  interesting  and  noble 
qualities  in  particular  human  beings,  and  it  is  strong 
or  weak  in  proportion  as  the  person  who  has  the  feel¬ 
ing  has  known  many  or  few  noble  and  amiable  human 
beings.  There  are  men  who  have  been  so  unfortunate 
as  to  live  in  the  perpetual  society  of  the  mean  and  the 
base  ;  they  have  never,  except  in  a  few  faint  glimpses, 
seen  anything  glorious  or  good  in  human  nature. 
With  these  the  feeling  of  humanity  has  a  perpetual 
struggle  for  existence,  their  minds  tend  by  a  fatal 
gravitation  to  the  belief  that  the  happiness  or  misery 
of  such  a  paltry  race  is  wholly  unimportant ;  they  may 
arrive  finally  at  a  fixed  condition,  in  which  it  may  be 
said  of  them  without  qualification,  that  4  man  delights 
not  them,  nor  woman  neither.’  In  this  final  stage 
they  are  men  who,  beyond  the  routine  of  life,  should 
not  be  trusted,  being  4  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and 
spoils,’  On  the  other  hand,  there \are  those  whose  lot 
it  has  been  from  earliest  childhood  to  see  the  fair  side 
of  humanity,  who  have  been  surrounded  with  clear 
ani  candid  countenances,  in  the  changes  of  which 


THE  ENTHUSIASM  OF  HUMANITY.  1 77 

might  be  traced  the  working  of  passions  strong  ana 
simple,  the  impress  of  a  firm  and  tender  nature,  wear¬ 
ing  when  it  looked  abroad  the  glow  of  sympathy,  and 
when  it  looked  within  the  bloom  of  modesty.  They 
have  seen,  and  not  once  or  twice,  a  man  forget  him¬ 
self  ;  they  have  witnessed  devotion,  unselfish  sorrow, 
unaffected  delicacy,  spontaneous  charity,  ingenuous 
self-reproach  ;  and  it  may  be  that  on  seeing  a  human 
being  surrender  for  another’s  good  not  something  but 
his  uttermost  all,  they  have  dimly  suspected  in  human 
nature  a  glory  connecting  it  with  the  divine.  In  these 
the  passion  of  humanity  is  warm  and  ready  to  become 
on  occasion  a  burning  flame  ;  their  whole  minds  are 
elevated,  because  they  are  possessed  with  the  dignity 
of  that  nature  they  share,  and  of  the  society  in  the 
midst  of  which  they  move. 

But  it  is  not  absolutely  necessary  to  humanity  that  a 
man  shall  have  seen  many  men  whom  he  can  respect. 
The  most  lost  cynic  will  get  a  new  heart  by  learning 
thoroughly  to  believe  in  the  virtue  of  one  man.  Our 
estimate  of  human  nature  is  in  proportion  to  the  best 
specimen  of  it  we  have  witnessed.  This  then  it  is 
which  is  wanted  to  raise  the  feeling  of  humanity  into 
an  enthusiasm;  when  the  precept  of  love  has  been 
given,  an  image  must  be  set  before  the  eyes  of  those 
who  are  called  upon  to  obey  it,  an  ideal  or  type  of 
man  which  may  be  noble  and  amiable  enough  to  raise 
the  whole  race  and  make  the  meanest  member  of  it 
sacred  with  reflected  glory. 

Did  not  Christ  do  this?  Did  the  command  to  love 
go  forth  to  those  who  had  never  seen  a  human  being 
they  could  revere?  Could  his  followers  turn  upon 

S* 


178 


ECCE  HOMO. 


him  and  say,  llow  can  we  love  a  creature  so  de¬ 
graded,  full  of  vile  wants  and  contemptible  passions, 
whose  little  life  is  most  harmlessly  spent  when  it  is  a*i 
empty  round  of  eating  and  sleeping ;  a  creature  des¬ 
tined  for  the  grave  and  for  oblivion  when  his  allotted 
term  of  fretfulness  and  folly  has  expired  ?  Of  this  race 
Christ  himself  was  a  member,  and  to  this  day  is  it  not 
the  best  answer  to  all  blasphemers  of  the  species,  the 
best  consolation  when  our  sense  of  its  degradation  is 
keenest,  that  a  human  brain  was  behind  his  forehead 
and  a  human  heart  beating  in  his  breast,  and  that  with¬ 
in  the  whole  creation  of  God  nothing  more  elevated 
or  more  attractive  has  yet  been  found  than  he  ?  And 
if  it  be  answered  that  there  was  in  his  nature  some¬ 
thing  exceptional  and  peculiar,  that  humanity  must 
not  be  measured  by  the  stature  of  Christ,  let  us  re¬ 
member  that  it  was  precisely  thus  that  he  wished  it  to 
be  measured,  delighting  to  call  himself  the  Son  of  Man, 
delighting  to  call  the  meanest  of  mankind  his  brothers. 
If  some  human  beings  are  abject  and  contemptible,  if 
it  be  incredible  to  us  that  they  can  have  any  high 
dignity  or  destiny,  do  we  regard  them  from  so  great  a 
height  as  Christ?  Are  we  likely  to  be  more  pained 
by  their  faults  and  deficiencies  than  he  was  ?  Is  our 
standard  higher  than  his?  And  yet  he  associated  by 
preference  with  these  meanest  of  the  race  ;  no  contempt 
for  them  did  he  ever  express,  no  suspicion  that  they 
might  be  less  dear  than  the  best  and  wisest  to  the 
common  Father,  no  doubt  that  they  were  naturally 
capable  of  rising  to  a  moral  elevation  like  his  own. 
There  is  nothing  of  which  a  man  may  be  prouder  than 
of  this  ;  it  is  the  most  hopeful  and  redeeming  fact  in 


THE  ENTHUSIASM  OF  HUMANITY.  J  79 

History  ;  it  is  precisely  what  was  wanting  to  raise  the 
love  of  man  as  man  to  enthusiasm.  An  eternal  glory 
has  been  shed  upon  the  human  race  by  the  love  Christ 
bore  to  it.  And  it  was  because  the  Edict  of  Universal 
Love  went  forth  to  men  whose  hearts  were  in  no 
cynical  mood  but  possessed  with  a  spirit  of  devotion 
to  a  man,  that  words  which  at  any  other  time,  however 
grandly  they  might  sound,  would  have  been  but  words, 
penetrated  so  deeply,  and  along  with  the  law  of  love 
the  power  of  love  was  given.  Therefore  also  the  first 
Christians  were  enabled  to  dispense  with  philosophical 
phrases,  and  instead  of  saying  that  they  loved  the  ideal 
of  man  in  man  could  simply  say  and  feel  that  they 
loved  Christ  in  every  man. 

We  have  here  the  very  kernel  of  the  Christian  moral 
scheme.  We  have  distinctly  before  us  the  end  Christ 
proposed  to  himself,  and  the  means  he  considered  ade¬ 
quate  to  the  attainment  of  it.  His  object  was,  instead 
of  drawing  up,  after  the  example  of  previous  legis 
lators,  a  list  of  actions  prescribed,  allowed,  and  pro¬ 
hibited,  to  give  his  disciples  a  universal  test  by  which 
they  might  discover  what  it  was  right  and  what  it  was 
wrong  to  do.  Now,  as  the  difficulty  of  discovering 
what  is  right  arises  commonly  from  the  prevalence  of 
self-interest  in  our  minds,  and  as  we  commonly  behave 
rightly  to  an y  one  for  whom  we  feel  affection  or 
sympathy,  Christ  considered  that  he  who  could  feel 
sympathy  for  all  would  behave  rightly  to  all.  But 
how  to  give  to  the  meagre  and  narrow  hearts  of  men 
such  enlargement?  How  to  make  them  capable  of  a 
universal  sympathy?  Christ  believed  it  possible  to 
bind  men  to  their  kind,  but  on  one  condition  —  that 


i8o 


ECCE  HOMO. 


they  were  first  hound  fast  to  himself.  He  stood  forth 
as  the  representative  of  men,  he  identified  himself 
with  the  cause  and  with  the  interests  of  all  human 
beings,  he  was  destined,  as  he  began  before  long  ob¬ 
scurely  to  intimate,  to  lay  down  his  life  for  them. 
Few  of  us  sympathize  originally  and  directly  with  this 
devotion ;  few  of  us  can  perceive  in  human  nature 
itself  any  merit  sufficient  to  evoke  it.  But  it  is  not  so 
hard  to  love  and  venerate  him  who  felt  it.  So  vast  a 
passion  of  love,  a  devotion  so  comprehensive,  elevated, 
deliberate,  and  profound,  has  not  elsewhere  been  in 
any  degree  approached  save  by  some  of  his  imitators. 
And  as  love  provokes  love,  many  have  found  it  possi¬ 
ble  to  conceive  for  Christ  an  attachment  the  closeness 
of  which  no  words  can  describe,  a  veneration  so  pos¬ 
sessing  and  absorbing  the  man  within  diem,  that  they 
have  said,  4 1  live  no  more,  but  Christ  lives  in  me.’ 
Now  such  a  feeling  carries  with  it  of  necessity  the 
feeling  of  love  for  all  human  beings.  It  matters  no 
longer  what  quality  men  may  exhibit ;  amiable  or  un- 
amiable,  as  the  brothers  of  Christ,  as  belonging  to  his 
sacred  and  consecrated  kind,  as  the  objects  of  his  love 
in  life  and  death,  they  must  be  dear  to  all  to  whom  he 
is  dear.  And  those  who  would  for  a  moment  know 
his  heart  and  understand  his  life  must  begin  by  think¬ 
ing  of  the  whole  race  of  man,  and  of  each  member  of 
the  race,  with  awful  reverence  and  hope. 

Love,  wheresoever  it  appears,  is  in  its  measure  a 
law-making  power.  k  Love  is  dzitiful  in  thought  and 
deed.’  And  as  the  lover  of  his  country  is  free  from 
the  temptation  to  treason,  so  is  he  who  loves  Christ 
secure  from  the  temptation  to  injure  any  human  being. 


THE  ENTHUSIASM  OF  HUMANITY. 


iSl 


whether  it  be  himself  or  another.  He  is  indeed  much 
more  than  this.  He  is  bound  and  he  is  eager  to  benefit 
and  bless  to  the  utmost  of  his  power  all  that  bear  his 
Masler’s  nature,  and  that  not  merely  with  the  good 
gifts  of  the  earth,  but  with  whatever  cherishes  and 
trains  best  the  Christ  within  them.  But  for  the  present 
we  are  concerned  merely  with  the  power  of  this  passion 
to  lift  the  man  out  of  sin.  The  injuries  he  committed 
lightly  when  he  regarded  his  fellow-creatures  simply 
as  animals  who  added  to  the  fierceness  of  the  brute 
an  ingenuity  and  forethought  that  made  them  doubly 
noxious,  become  horrible  sacrilege  when  he  sees  in 
them  no  longer  the  animal  but  the  Christ.  And  that 
other  class  of  crimes  which  belongs  more  especially 
to  ages  of  civilization,  and  arises  out  of  a  cynical  con¬ 
tempt  for  the  species,  is  rendered  equally  impossible 
to  the  man  who  hears  with  reverence  the  announce¬ 
ment,  ‘  The  good  deeds  you  did  to  the  least  of  these 
my  brethren  you  did  to  me/ 

There  are  two  objections  which  may  suggest  them¬ 
selves  at  this  point,  the  one  to  intellectual,  the  other  to 
practical  men.  The  intellectual  man  may  say,  4  To 
discover  what  it  is  right  to  do  in  any  given  case  is  not 
the  province  of  any  feeling  or  passion  however  sublime, 
but  requires  the  application  of  the  same  intellectual 
power  which  solves  mathematical  problems.  The 
common  acts  of  life  may  no  doubt  be  performed  cor¬ 
rectly  by  unintellectual  people,  but  this  is  because 
these  constantly  recurring  problems  have  been  solved 
long  ago  by  clever  people,  and  the  vulgar  are  now  in 
possession  of  the  results.  Whenever  a  new  combina¬ 
tion  occurs  it  is  a  matter  for  casuists  ;  the  best  intentions 


I  82 


ECCE  HOMO. 


will  avail  little  ;  there  is  doubtless  a  great  difference 
between  a  good  man  and  a  bad  one  ;  the  one  will  do 
what  is  right  when  he  knows  it,  and  the  other  will 
not;  but  in  respect  for  the  power  of  ascertaining  what 
it  is  right  to  do,  supposing  their  knowledge  of  casuistry 
to  be  equal,  they  are  on  a  par.  Goodness,  or  the 
passion  of  humanity,  or  Christian  love,  may  be  a 
motive  inducing  men  to  keep  the  law,  but  it  has  no 
right  to  be  called  the  law-making  power.  And  what 
has  Christianity  added  to  our  theoretic  knowledge 
of  morality?  It  may  have  made  men  practicall}' 
more  moral,  but  has  it  added  anything  to  Aristotle’s 
Ethics?’ 

Certainly  Christianity  has  no  ambition  to  invade  the 
provinces  of  the  moralist  or  the  casuist.  But  the  diffi¬ 
culties  which  beset  the  discovery  of  the  right  moral 
course  are  of  two  kinds.  There  are  the  difficulties 
which  arise  from  the  blinding  and  confusing  effect  of 
selfish  passions,  and  which  obscure  from  the  view  the 
end  which  should  be  aimed  at  in  action ;  when  these 
have  been  overcome  there  arises  a  new  set  of  difficul¬ 
ties  concerning  the  means  by  which  the  end  should  be 
attained.  In  dealing  with  your  neighbor  the  first  thing 
to  be  understood  is  that  his  interest  is  to  be  considered 
as  well  as  your  own  ;  but  when  this  has  been  settled, 
it  remains  to  be  considered  what  his  interest  is.  The 
latter  class  of  difficulties  requires  to  be  dealt  with  by 
the  intellectual  or  calculating  faculty.  The  formei 
class  can  only  be  dealt  with  by  the  moral  force  of 
sympathy.  Now  it  is  true  that  the  right  action  will 
not  be  performed  without  the  operation  of  buth  these 
agencies.  But  the  moral  agency  is  the  dominant  one 


THE  ENTHUSIASM  OF  HUMANITY.  1 83 

thioughout;  it  is  that  without  which  the  very  concep¬ 
tion  of  law  is  impossible ;  it  overcomes  those  difficul¬ 
ties  which  in  the  vast  majority  of  practical  cases  are 
the  most  serious.  The  calculating  casuistical  faculty 
is,  as  it  were,  in  its  employ,  and  it  is  no  more  im¬ 
proper  to  call  it  the  law-making  power,  although  it 
does  not  ultimately  decide  what  action  is  to  be  per¬ 
formed,  than  to  say  that  a  house  was  built  by  one  who 
did  not  with  his  own  hands  lay  the  bricks  and  spread 
the  mortar. 

The  objection  which  practical  men  take  is  a  very 
important  one,  as  the  criticisms  of  such  men  always 
are,  being  founded  commonly  upon  large  observation 
and  not  perverted  by  theory.  They  say  that  the  love 
of  Christ  does  not  in  practice  produce  the  nobleness 
and  largeness  of  character  which  has  been  represented 
as  its  proper  and  natural  result ;  that  instead  of  inspir* 
ing  those  who  feel  it  with  reverence  and  hope  for  their 
kind,  it  makes  them  exceedingly  narrow  in  their  sym¬ 
pathies,  disposed  to  deny  and  explain  away  even  the 
most  manifest  virtues  displayed  by  men,  and  to  de¬ 
spair  of  the  future  destiny  of  the  great  majority  of 
their  fellow-creatures  ;  that  instead  of  binding  them  to 
their  kind,  it  divides  them  from  it  by  a  gulf  which 
they  themselves  proclaim  to  be  impassable  and  eter¬ 
nal,  and  unites  them  only  in  a  gloomy  conspiracy  of 
misanthropy  with  each  other ;  that  it  is  indeed  a  law¬ 
making  power,  but  that  the  laws  it  makes  are  little- 
minded  and  vexatious  prohibitions  of  things  innocent, 
demoralizing  restraints  upon  the  freedom  of  joy  and 
the  healthy  instincts  of  nature  ;  that  it  favors  hypocri¬ 
sy,  inoroseness,  and  sometimes  lunacy ;  that  the  only 


184 


ECCE  HOMO. 


vice  it  has  power  to  check  is  thoughtlessness,  and  its 
only  beneficial  effect  is  that  of  forcing  into  activity, 
though  not  always  into  healthy  activity,  the  faculty  of 
serious  reflection. 

This  maybe  a  just  picture  of  a  large  class  of  reli¬ 
gious  men,  but  it  is  impossible  in  the  nature  of  things 
that  such  effects  should  be  produced  by  a  pure  per¬ 
sonal  devotion  to  Christ.  We  are  to  remember  that 
nothing  has  been  subjected  to  such  multiform  ana 
grotesque  perversion  as  Christianity.  Certainly  the  di 
rect  love  of  Christ,  as  it  was  felt  by  his  first  followers, 
is  a  rare  thing  among  modern  Christians.  His  charac¬ 
ter  has  been  so  much  obscured  by  scholasticism,  as  to 
have  lost  in  a  great  measure  its  attractive  power. 
The  prevalent  feeling  towards  him  now  among  re¬ 
ligious  men  is  an  awful  fear  of  his  supernatural  great¬ 
ness,  and  a  disposition  to  obey  his  commands  arising 
partly  from  dread  of  future  punishment  and  hope  of 
reward,  and  partly  from  a  nobler  feeling  of  loyalty, 
which,  however,  is  inspired  rather  by  his  office  than 
his  person.  Beyond  this  we  may  discern  in  them  an 
uneasy  conviction  that  he  requires  a  more  personal 
devotion,  which  leads  to  spasmodic  efforts  to  kindle 
the  feeling  by  means  of  violent  raptures  of  panegyric 
and  by  repeating  over  and  getting  by  rote  the  ardent 
expressions  of  those  who  really  had  it.  That  is  want¬ 
ing  for  the  most  part  which  Christ  held  to  be  all  in 
all,  spontaneous  warmth,  free  and  generous  devotion. 
That  the  fruits  of  a  Christianity  so  hollow  should  be 
poor  and  sickly  is  not  surprising. 

But  that  Christ’s  method,  when  rightly  applied,  is 
really  of  mighty  force  may  be  shown  by  an  argument 


THE  ENTHUSIASM  OF  HUMANITY.  185 

which  the  severest  censor  of  Christians  will  hardly 
refuse  to  admit.  Compare  the  ancient  with  the  mod¬ 
ern  world  ;  6  Look  on  this  picture  and  on  that.’  One 
broad  distinction  in  the  characters  of  men  forces  itself 
into  prominence.  Among  all  the  men  of  the  ancient 
heathen  world  there  were  scarcely  one  or  two  to  whom 
we  might  venture  to  apply  the  epithet  i  holy.’  In 
other  words,  there  were  not  more  than  one  or  two,  if 
any,  who  besides  being  virtuous  in  their  actions  were 
possessed  with  an  unaffected  enthusiasm  of  goodness, 
and  besides  abstaining  from  vice  regarded  even  a 
vicious  thought  with  horror.  Probably  no  one  will 
deny  that  in  Christian  countries  this  higher-toned  good¬ 
ness,  which  we  call  holiness,  has  existed.  Few  will 
maintain  that  it  has  been  exceedingly  rare.  Perhaps 
the  truth  is,  that  there  has  scarcely  been  a  town  in 
any  Christian  country  since  the  time  of  Christ  where 
a  century  has  passed  without  exhibiting  a  character 
of  such  elevation  that  his  mere  presence  has  shamed 
the  bad  and  made  the  good  better,  and  has  been  felt 
at  times  like  the  presence  of  God  Himself.  And  if 
this  be  so,  has  Christ  failed?  or  can  Christianity  die? 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE  LOR  D’S  SUPPER. 

HAT  Christ  had  but  a  slight  esteem  for  ritea 


-5-  and  ceremonies  may  be  argued  negatively  from 
his  establishing  so  few,  and  positively  from  the  con¬ 
tempt  he  poured  on  the  traditional  formalities  prized 
so  highly  by  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees.  But  he  well 
understood  their  use,  and  we  have  already  observed 
with  what  rigorous  firmness  he  insisted  on  his  follow¬ 
ers  submitting  to  the  initiatory  rite  of  baptism.  The 
kingdom  he  was  founding  was  to  be  everywhere  im - 
perium  in  imperio ;  its  members  were  to  be  at  the 
same  time  members  of  secular  states  and  national 
bodies.  It  was  therefore  a  matter  of  extreme  impor¬ 
tance  to  preserve  the  distinctness  of  the  Christian 
society  and  to  prevent  its  members  from  being  drawn 
apart  from  each  other  by  the  distractions  of  worldly 
claims  and  engagements.  For  this  purpose  certain 
sacramenta  or  solemn  observances  renewing  and  re¬ 
minding  them  of  their  union  were  most  desirable,  and 
Christ  ordained  two,  the  one  expressing  the  distinct¬ 
ness  of  the  Church  from  the  world,  and  the  other  the 
unity  of  the  Church  within  itself.  Of  the  former, 
Baptism,  mention  was  made  when  we  considered 
Christ’s  Call,  concerning  the  latter,  the  Common  Sup¬ 
per  or  ovooluov  of  Christians,  it  is  convenient  to  say 
something  now. 


THE  LORD’S  SUPPER. 


187 

A  common  meal  is  the  most  natural  and  universal 
way  of  expressing,  maintaining,  and  as  it  were  ratify¬ 
ing  relations  of  friendship.  The  spirit  of  antiquity 
regarded  the  meals  of  human  beings  as  having  the 
nature  of  sacred  rites  (sacra  mensse).  If  therefore  it 
sounds  degrading  to  compare  the  Christian  Commun¬ 
ion  to  a  club-dinner,  this  is  not  owing  to  any  essential 
difference  between  the  two  things,  but  to  the  fact  that 
the  moderns  connect  less  dignified  associations  with 
meals  than  the  ancients  did,  and  that  most  clubs  have 
a  far  less  serious  object  than  the  Christian  Society. 
The  Christian  Communion  is  a  club-dinner :  but  the 
club  is  the  New  Jerusalem  ;  God  and  Christ  are  mem¬ 
bers  of  it ;  death  makes  no  vacancy  in  its  lists,  but  at 
its  banquet-table  the  perfected  spirits  of  just  men,  with 
an  innumerable  company  of  angels,  sit  down  beside 
those  who  have  not  yet  surrendered  their  bodies  to  the 
grave. 

Goethe  thought  that  Protestant  Christians  have  too 
few  sacraments,  and  this  opinion  is  not  refuted  by  the 
fact  that  Christ  himself  only  instituted  two.  We  are 
to  suppose,  however,  that  these  two  are  the  most 
essential,  and  indeed  without  them  we  can  scarcely 
imagine  the  Church  maintaining  its  distinct  existence. 
Without  a  solemn  form  of  entrance,  and  without  occa¬ 
sional  solemn  meetings,  Christians  would  forget  that 
they  were  Christians.  But  in  these  meetings  it  was 
obviously  desirable,  if  it  were  possible,  that  not  only 
the  fact  of  the  union  of  Christians,  but  also  the  nature 
and  manner  of  their  union,  should  be  symbolically 
expressed.  We  have  now  considered  at  some  length 
the  nature  and  conditions  of  the  Christian  Society, 


ECCE  HOMO. 


1 88 

without  referring  to  or  producing  in  evidence  the 
Lord’s  Supper.  If  therefore  the  form  of  the  Lord’s 
Supper  expresses  symbolically  such  a  union  as  we 
have  described,  we  shall  derive  from  this  fact  a  con¬ 
firmation  of  the  results  at  which  we  had  independently 
arrived. 

Of  those  results  some  do  not  require  confirmation, 
being  in  themselves  obvious  and  disputed  by  none.  Il 
has  never  been  questioned  that  the  doctrine  of  the 
brotherhood  of  mankind  and  of  the  duty  of  universal 
benevolence  and  charity  is  a  main  feature  of  Christian¬ 
ity.  This  doctrine,  then,  is  very  plainly  symbolized 
in  the  Lord’s  Supper.  As  a  meeting  or  communion 
it  is  clearly  designed  to  express  a  certain  fellowship 
between  those  who  share  it ;  by  admitting  all  Chris¬ 
tians  without  distinction  on  equal  terms,  it  expresses 
the  universal  character  of  the  society.  The  extreme 
simplicity  of  the  ceremony  makes  its  symbolical  char¬ 
acter  more  impressive,  and  averts,  as  far  as  that  is 
possible,  the  danger  which  all  venerated  symbols  incur 
of  being  valued  for  their  own  sake  and  confounded 
with  the  thing  symbolized.  The  meal  consisted  of 
bread  and  wine,  the  simplest  and  in  those  countries 
most  universal  elements  of  food ;  and  when  men  of 
different  nations  or  degrees  sat  or  knelt  together  and 
received,  as  from  the  hand  of  God,  this  simple  repast, 
they  were  reminded  in  the  most  forcible  manner  of 
their  common  human  wants,  and  their  common  char¬ 
acter  of  pensioners  on  the  bounty  of  the  Universal 
Father. 

But  Christ  added  something  to  the  ceremony.  He 
bade  his  followers  consider  the  bread  they  ate  as  his 


THE  LORD’S  SUPPER. 


i8q 

body,  and  the  wine  they  drank  as  his  blood.  And  in 
a  discourse  lecorded  by  St.  John,  which  we  may  quote 
without  distrust,  as  it  is  so  manifestly  confirmed  by 
the  accounts  given  by  the  other  Evangelists  of  the 
institution  of  the  Supper,  he  says,  4  Except  ye  eat  the 
flesh  and  drink  the  blood  of  the  Son  of  Man,  ye  have 
no  life  in  you.’  What  Christ  meant  by  life  is  not  now 
difficult  to  discover.  It  is  that  healthy  condition  of 
the  mind  which  issues  of  necessity  in  right  action. 
This  health  of  the  soul  we  know  Christ  regarded  as 
consisting  in  a  certain  enthusiasm  of  love  for  human 
beings  as  such.  This  enthusiasm  then,  we  are  now 
informed,  will  nut  spring  up  in  us  spontaneously  nor 
by  any  efforts  we  may  make  to  kindle  it  in  ourselves, 
nor  is  the  message  of  Christianity  fully  delivered  when 
love  to  the  human  race  is  declared  to  be  a  duty ;  hu¬ 
man  beings  will  not  unite  merely  because  they  are  told 
to  do  so,  nor  will  the  anarchic  passions  submit  to  a 
mere  reproof.  Men  cannot  learn  to  love  each  other, 
says  Christ,  but  4  by  eating  his  flesh  and  drinking  his 
blood.’ 

The  Lord’s  Supper,  then,  confirms  by  its  symbolism 
the  view  of  Christian  morality  which  was  taken  in  the 
last  chapter.  It  was  there  asserted  that  Christ  did  not 
regard  it  as  possible  to  unite  men  to  each  other  but  by 
first  uniting  them  to  himself.  And  in  the  Lord’s  Sup¬ 
per,  in  which  the  union  of  Christians  is  symbolized,  it 
is  represented  as  depending  not  merely  on  the  natural 
passion  of  humanity  implanted  in  their  breasts,  nor 
merely  on  the  command  of  Christ  calling  that  passion 
into  activity,  but  upon  a  certain  intimate  personal  con¬ 
tact  between  Christ  and  his  followers.  The  union  of 


190 


ECCE  HOMO. 


mankind,  but  a  union  begun  and  subsisting  only  in 
Christ,  is  what  the  Lord’s  Supper  sacramentally 
expresses. 

As  to  the  metaphor  itself,  if  it  seems  at  first  violent 
and  unnatural,  we  are  to  observe  that  on  the  subject 
of  the  personal  devotion  required  by  Christ  from  his 
followers  his  language  was  often  of  this  vehement 
kind,  and  that  his  first  followers  in  describing  their 
relation  to  him  in  like  manner  overleap  the  bounds  of 
ordinary  figurative  language.  Christ,  in  a  passage  to 
which  allusion  has  already  been  made,  demanded  of 
his  followers  that  they  should  hate  their  father  and 
mother  for  his  sake,  and  St.  Paul  in  many  passages 
declares  that  Christ  is  his  life  and  his  very  self.  It  is 
precisely  this  intense  personal  devotion,  this  habitual 
feeding  on  the  character  of  Christ,  so  that  the  essential 
nature  of  the  Master  seems  to  pass  into  and  become 
the  essential  nature  of  the  servant  —  loyalty  carried  to 
the  point  of  self-annihilation  —  that  is  expressed  by 
the  words  4  eating  the  flesh  and  drinking  the  blood  of 
Christ.’ 

Much  remains  to  be  said  about  the  details  of  Chris¬ 
tian  morality,  but  the  reader  should  already  be  in  a 
condition  to  understand  and  judge  of  its  scope.  And 
let  us  pause  once  more  to  consider  that  which  remains 
throughout  a  subject  of  ever-recurring  astonishment, 
the  unbounded  personal  pretensions  which  Christ 
advances.  It  is  common  in  human  history  to  meet 
with  those  who  claim  some  superiority  over  their 
fellows  Men  assert  a  preeminence  over  their  fellow 
citizens  or  fellow-countrymen  and  become  rulers  of 


THE  LORD’S  SUPPER. 


I9I 


those  who  at  first  were  their  equals,  but  they  dream 
of  nothing  greater  than  some  partial  control  over  the 
actions  of  others  for  the  short  space  of  a  lifetime.  Few 
indeed  are  those  to  whom  it  is  given  to  influence 
future  ages.  Yet  some  men  have  appeared  who  have 
been  4  as  levers  to  uplift  the  earth  and  roll  it  in  another 
course.’  Homer  by  creating  literature,  Socrates  by 
creating  science,  Caesar  by  carrying  civilization  inland 
from  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  Newton  by 
starting  science  upon  a  career  of  steady  progress,  may 
be  said  to  have  attained  this  eminence.  But  these 
men  gave  a  single  impact  like  that  which  is  conceived 
to  have  first  set  the  planets  in  motion,  Christ  claims 
to  be  a  perpetual  attractive  power  like  the  snn  which 
determines  their  orbit.  They  contributed  .  to  men 
some  discovery  and  passed  away ;  Christ’s  discovery 
is  himself.  To  humanity  struggling  with  its  passions 
and  its  destiny  he  says,  Cling  to  me,  cling  ever  closer 
to  me.  If  we  believe  St.  John,  he  represented  himself 
as  the  Light  of  the  World,  as  the  Shepherd  of  the 
Souls  of  men,  as  the  Way  to  immortality,  as  the  Vine 
or  Life-Tree  of  Humanity.  And  if  we  refuse  to 
believe  that  he  used  those  words,  we  cannot  deny, 
without  rejecting  all  the  evidence  before  us,  that  he 
used  words  which  have  substantially  the  same  mean¬ 
ing.  We  cannot  deny  that  he  commanded  men  to 
leave  everything  and  attach  themselves  to  him  ;  that 
he  declared  himself  king,  master,  and  judge  of  men ; 
that  he  promised  to  give  rest  to  all  the  weary  ami 
heavy-laden ;  that  he  instructed  his  followers  to 
hope  for  life  from  feeding  on  his  body  and  blood. 


192 


ECCE  HOMO. 


But  it  is  doubly  surprising  to  observe  that  these  enor¬ 
mous  pretensions  were  advanced  by  one  whose  special 
peculiarity,  not  only  among  his  contemporaries  but 
among  the  remarkable  men  that  have  appeared  before 
and  since,  was  an  almost  feminine  tenderness  and 
humanity.  This  characteristic  was  remarked,  as  we 
have  seen,  by  the  Baptist,  and  Christ  himself  was 
fully  conscious  of  it.  Yet  so  clear  to  him  was  his 
own  dignity  and  infinite  importance  to  the  human 
race  as  an  objective  fact  with  which  his  own  opinion 
of  himself  had  nothing  to  do,  that  in  the  same  breath 
in  which  he  asserts  it  in  the  most  unmeasured  lan¬ 
guage  he  alludes,  apparently  with  entire  unconscious¬ 
ness,  to  his  humility .  4  Take  my  yoke  upon  you  and 

learn  of  me,  for  I  am  meek  a?id  lowly  of  heart? 
And  again,  when  speaking  to  his  followers  of  the 
arrogance  of  the  Pharisees,  he  says,  4  They  love  to  be 
called  Rabbi ;  but  be  not  you  called  Rabbi,  for  one  is 
your  master ,  even  Christ .’ 

Who  is  the  humble  man  ?  It  is  he  who  resists  with 
special  watchfulness  and  success  the  temptations 
which  the  conditions  of  his  life  may  offer  to  exag¬ 
gerate  his  own  importance.  He,  for  example,  is 
humble  who,  born  into  a  high  station,  remembers  that 
those  who  are  placed  lower  in  society  are  also  men 
and  may  have  more  intrinsic  merit  and  dignity  than 
himself.  Christ  could  not  show  his  humility  in  this 
way,  for  he  was  poor  and  obscure.  But  there  are 
peculiar  temptations  which  assail  the  thinker.  He  is 
in  danger  of  being  intoxicated  by  the  influence  which 
he  gains  over  others,  he  feels  himself  elevated  by  the 


THE  LORD'S  SUPPER.  193 

greatness  of  the  thoughts  with  which  his  mind  habit¬ 
ually  deals  and  which  from  time  to  time  it  originates. 
If  besides  intellectual  gifts  the  thinker  possess  acute 
sensibility,  strong  moral  intuitions,  heroic  powers  of 
indignation  and  pity,  his  temptation  is  to  suppose  that 
he  is  made  of  finer  clay  than  other  men,  and  that  he 
has  a  natural  title  to  preeminence  and  sovereignty  over 
them.  Such  is  the  temptation  of  moral  reformers 
such  as  Christ,  and  if  Christ  was  humble  he  resisted 
this  temptation  with  exceptional  success.  If  he  judged 
himself  correctly,  and  if  the  Baptist  described  him 
well  when  he  compared  him  to  a  lamb,  and,  we  may 
add,  if  his  biographers  have  delineated  his  character 
faithfully,  Christ  was  one  naturally  contented  with 
obscurity,  wanting  the  restless  desire  for  distinction 
and  eminence  which  is  common  in  great  men,  hating 
to  put  forward  personal  claims,  disliking  competition 
and  ‘  disputes  who  should  be  greatest/  finding  some¬ 
thing  bombastic  in  the  titles  of  royalty,  fond  of  what 
is  simple  and  homely,  of  children,  of  poor  people, 
occupying  himself  so  much  with  the  concerns  of 
others,  with  the  relief  of  sickness  and  want,  that  the 
temptation  to  exaggerate  the  importance  of  his  own 
thoughts  and  plans  was  not  likely  to  master  him  ; 
lastly,  entertaining  for  the  human  race  a  feeling  so 
singularly  fraternal  that  he  was  likely  to  reject  as  a 
sort  of  treason  the  impulse  to  set  himself  in  any 
manner  above  them.  Christ,  it  appears,  was  this 
humble  man.  When  we  have  fully  pondered  the  fact, 
we  may  be  in  a  condition  to  estimate  the  force  of  the 
evidence,  which,  submitted  to  his  mind,  could  induce 
9 


ECCE  HOMO. 


f94 

him,  in  direct  opposition  to  all  his  tastes  and  instincts, 
to  lay  claim,  persistently,  with  the  calmness  of  entire 
conviction,  in  opposition  to  the  whole  religious  world, 
in  spite  of  the  offence  which  his  own  followers  con¬ 
ceived,  to  a  dominion  more  transcendent,,  more  univer¬ 
sal,  more  complete,  than  the  most  delirious  votary  of 
glory  ever  aspired  to  in  his  dreams. 


*95 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

POSITIVE  MORALITY. 

OUR  investigation  into  the  character  of  the  law 
under  which  the  members  of  the  Christian  Conv 
monwealth  are  called  to  live  has  led  us  to  the  dis¬ 
covery  that  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word  no  such  law 
exists,  it  being  characteristic  of  this  commonwealth 
that  every  member  of  it  is  a  lawgiver  to  himself. 
Every  Christian,  we  learn,  has  a  divine  inspiration 
which  dictates  to  him  in  all  circumstances  the  right 
course  of  action,  which  inspiration  is  the  passion  of 
humanity  raised  to  a  high  energy  by  contemplation  of 
Christ’s  character,  and  by  the  society  of  those  in  whom 
the  same  enthusiasm  exists.  We  cease,  therefore, 
henceforth  to  speak  of  a  Christian  law,  and  endeavor 
instead  to  describe  in  its  large  outlines  the  Christian 
character ;  that  is  to  say,  the  new  views,  feelings,  and 
habits  produced  in  the  Christian  by  his  guiding  en¬ 
thusiasm- 

The  tendency  and  operation  of  this  enthusiasm  will 
be  most  clearly  apprehended  if  we  consider  the  way 
in  which  it  led  those  who  felt  it  to  regard  the  current 
morality  of  their  time  and  country,  in  other  words, 
(lie  Tewish  law.  In  this  law  they  had  been  bred  ;  it 
was  their  rule  of  life  up  to  the  time  when  they  awoke 
to  a  new  life.  How,  then,  did  they  regard  this  system 
9\ ler  their  regeneration? 


1 96 


ECCE  HOMO. 


In  the  first  place  they  regarded  it  critically,  as  some¬ 
thing  of  which  they  were  independent  and  with  which 
they  could  dispense.  They  had  in  their  own  breasts 
an  inexhaustible  spring  of  morality ;  of  written  and 
formulated  morality  they  had  henceforth  no  need. 
Feeling  a  sure  foundation  under  their  feet,  they  gath¬ 
ered  courage  for  the  first  time  to  examine  and  criticise 
what  before  they  had  felt  it  their  wisdom  to  receive 
without  criticism.  As  Jews  their  piety  had  consisted 
in  a  certain  timid  caution,  a  wary  walking  in  the  old 
paths,  and  when  they  became  Christians,  it  is  remark¬ 
able  that  they  gave  to  those  who  continued  to  be  what 
they  had  originally  been  the  title  of 4  the  cautious  mend 
In  periods  which  are  wanting  in  inspiration  piety 
always  assumes  this  character  of  caution.  It  degener¬ 
ates  from  a  free  and  joyful  devotion  to  a  melancholy 
and  anxious  slavery.  The  first  work  of  the  Divine 
Spirit  was  a  work  of  encouragement,  and  the  humblest 
man  was  found  the  most  courageous  of  all.  He  scru¬ 
tinized  fearlessly  the  mass  of  traditions  which  then 
went  by  the  name  of  the  Law,  and  unhesitatingly  pro 
nounced  a  great  part  of  them  wanting  in  authority. 
Some  of  these  time-honored  usages  he  stigmatized  as 
immoral  and  mischievous,  others,  which  were  in  them¬ 
selves  indifferent,  he  treated  with  contemptuous  neg¬ 
lect.  We  may  imagine  that  by  this  conduct  he  gave 
grievous  offence  to  some  honest,  4  cautious/  conserva¬ 
tive  spirits.  Doubtless  —  thus  they  may  have  expos¬ 
tulated —  the  washing  of  cups  and  pots  is  in  itself 
unimportant,  but  wise  men,  our  ancestors,  have  pre¬ 
scribed  the  usage ;  by  such  symbolism  we  may  learn 
the  lesson  and  form  the  habit  of  purity.  These  men 


POSITIVE  MORALITY. 


197 


Christ  perhaps  regarded  as  Milton  regarded  tlie  versi¬ 
fier  who  did  not  know  whether  his  lines  were  of  the 
right  length  till  he  had  counted  the  syllables.  As  the 
poet  consulted  on  such  questions  only  the  soul  of 
rhythm  within  him,  so  were  all  mysteries  of  purity 
made  clear  to  Christ  by  the  Spirit  of  purity  which  he 
had  received  from  above.  It  was  not,  indeed,  in  his 
nature  to  despise  anything  which  might  be  useful  to 
the  ignorant  and  the  weak,  however  unnecessary  for 
himself.  As  he  stooped  to  receive  baptism  from  John, 
so  he  would,  no  doubt,  have  sanctioned  these  usages 
bv  his  own  observance  if  he  had  seen  any  good  in 
them  at  all.  But  he  seems  to  have  considered  that  the 
time  for  these  methods  was  gone  by ;  and  as  all  such 
contrivances  begin  to  be  mischievous  the  moment  they 
cease  to  be  beneficial,  he  condemned  them  as  fettering 
the  freedom  of  that  inspiration  which  was  for  the 
future  to  take  the  place  of  law. 

Of  the  Scriptures  of  the  Old  Testament  he  always 
spoke  with  the  utmost  reverence,  and  he  seems  never 
to  have  called  in  question  the  Jewish  view  of  them  as 
infallible  oracles  of  God.  Some  parts  of  them,  par¬ 
ticularly  the  book  of  Deuteronomy,  seem  to  have  been 
often  present  to  his  thoughts.  Yet  even  the  Old  Tes¬ 
tament  he  regarded  in  a  sense  critically,  and  he  intro¬ 
duced  canons  of  interpretation  which  must  have 
astonished  by  their  boldness  the  religious  men  of  the 
day.  For  he  regarded  the  laws  of  Moses,  though 
divine,  as  capable  of  becoming  obsolete  and  also  as 
incomplete.  On  the  question  of  divorce  he  declared 
the  Mosaic  arrangement  to  have  been  well  suited  for 
the  ‘  hard-heartedness  ’  of  a  semi-barbarous  age,  but 


ECCE  HOMO. 


198 

to  be  no  longer  justifiable  in  the  advanced  condition 
of  morals.  So  too  in  the  matter  of  oaths,  the  permis¬ 
sion  of  private  reyenge,  and  other  points  in  which  the 
Mosaic  legislation  had  necessarily  something  of  a  bar¬ 
baric  character,  he  unhesitatingly  repeated  the  acts  of 
the  lawgiver  and  introduced  new  provisions. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  the  alarm  which  such  freedom 
of  interpretation  must  have  excited  in  the  ‘  cautious/ 
They  would  declare  it  destructive  of  the  authority  of 
the  Scriptures.  Were  not  the  Scriptures  given,  they 
would  say,  to  save  man  from  his  own  reason  ?  Does 
not  their  priceless  value  consist  in  this,  that  for  all 
conceivable  circumstances  they  furnish  a  rule  which 
simple  men  may  follow  with  simple  obedience?  But 
if  these  divine  rules  can  in  any  case  become  obsolete, 
if  human  affairs  can  change  so  far  that  the  Scriptures 
can  cease  to  be  a  guide  to  our  feet,  if  the  words  of  the 
Eternal  can  be  subject  to  the  accidents  of  time  and 
mutability,  what  further  use  can  there  be  in  the  Scrip¬ 
tures,  and  how  henceforth  shall  our  steps  be  guided? 

It  was  the  inspiration,  the  law-making  power,  that 
gave  Christ  and  his  disciples  courage  to  shake  them¬ 
selves  free  from  the  fetters  even  of  a  divine  law. 
Their  position  was  a  new  and  delicate  one,  and  noth¬ 
ing  but  such  an  inspiration  could  have  enabled  them  to 
maintain  it.  To  pronounce  the  old  law  entirely  true 
or  entirely  false  would  have  been  easy,  but  to  consider 
it  as  true  and  divine  yet  no  longer  true  for  them,  no 
longer  their  authoritative  guide,  must  have  seemed, 
and  must  seem  even  to  us,  at  first  sight  unnatural  and 
paradoxical.  It  may  be  illustrated,  however,  by  what 
every  one  has  observed  to  happen  in  the  process  of 


POSITIVE  MORALITY. 


I99 


learning  any  art.  For  the  beginner  rigid  rules  are 
prescribed,  which  it  will  be  well  for  him  for  a  time  to 
follow  punctiliously  and  blindly.  He  may  believe 
that  under  these  rules  a  principle  is  concealed,  that  a 
reason  could  be  given  why  they  should  be  followed, 
but  it  is  well  for  a  time  that  the  principle  should  re¬ 
main  concealed  and  that  the  rules  should  be  followed 
simply  because  they  are  prescribed.  At  any  rate,  so 
long  as  he  actually  has  not  discovered  the  principle, 
he  must  abide  strictly  by  the  rules,  and  it  would  be 
foolish  to  abandon  them  in  order  to  go  in  search  of  it. 
But  there  comes  a  time  when  the  discovery  is  made,  a 
golden  moment  of  silent  expansion  and  enlargement. 
Then  the  reason  of  all  the  discipline  to  which  he  has 
submitted  becomes  clear  to  him,  the  principle  reveals 
itself  and  makes  the  confused  and  ill-apprehended 
multitude  of  details  in  a  moment  harmonious  and 
luminous.  But  the  principle  at  the  same  moment  that 
it  explains  the  rules  supersedes  them.  They  may  be 
not  less  true  than  before,  they  may  be  seen  to  be  true 
far  more  clearly  than  before.  But  they  are  obsolete  ; 
their  use  is  gone  ;  they  can  for  the  future  tell  only  that 
which  is  already  well  known,  which  can  never  again 
be  forgotten  or  misunderstood.  If  the  student  refers 
to  them  at  a  later  time  it  is  with  a  feeling  of  wonder 
that  they  should  ever  have  delayed  his  attention  for  a 
moment,  and  probably  in  the  rude  and  peremptory 
particularity  of  their  form  he  may  discover  that  which, 
though  well  enough  adapted  for  the  beginner  under 
certain  circumstances,  is  yet  in  itself  not  true  and  is 
calculated  under  other  circumstances  to  mislead. 

It  was  in  this  manner  that  Christ  found  the  Mosaic 


200 


ECCE  HOMO. 


law  at  once  divine  and  in  part  obsolete.  But  not  only 
did  he  find  it  in  part  obsolete,  he  found  it  throughout 
utterly  meagre  and  imperfect.  And  this  was  inevita¬ 
ble,  Between  the  rude  clans  that  had  listened  to 
Moses  in  the  Arabian  desert  and  the  Jews  who  in  the 
reign  of  Tiberius  visited  the  temple  courts  there  was 
a  great  gulf.  The  ‘  hard-heartedness :  of  the  primitive 
nation  had  given  way  under  the  gradual  influence  of 
law  and  peace  and  trade  and  literature.  Laws  which 
in  the  earlier  time  the  best  men  had  probably  found  it 
hard  to  keep  could  now  serve  only  as  a  curb  upon  the 
worst.  The  disciples  of  Moses  were  subject  to  law¬ 
less  passions  which  they  could  not  control,  and  the 
fiercest  ebullitions  of  which  seemed  to  them  venial, 
misfortunes  rather  than  crimes.  Self-restraint  of  any 
kind  was  to  them  a  new  and  hard  lesson.  They  lis¬ 
tened  with  awe  to  the  inspired  teacher  who  taught  them 
not  to  covet  their  neighbor’s  wife  or  property ;  and 
when  they  were  commanded  not  to  commit  murder, 
they  wondered  doubtless  by  what  art,  by  what  con¬ 
trivance,  it  might  be  possible  to  put  a  bridle  on  the 
thing  called  anger  —  ‘anger  which  far  sweeter  than 
trickling  drops  of  honey  rises  in  the  bosom  of  a  man 
like  smoke.’  But  how  much  was  all  this  changed ! 
If  one  like  Paul  had  gone  to  a  Christian  teacher  after 
the  new  enthusiasm  of  humanity  had  been  excited  in 
him,  and  asked  for  instruction  in  morality,  would  it 
have  satisfied  him  to  be  told  that  he  must  abstain  from 
committing  murder  and  robbery?  These  laws,  to  be 
sure,  were  not  obsolete,  but  the  better  class  of  men 
had  been  raised  to  an  elevation  of  o-oodness  at  which 
they  were  absolutely  unassailable  by  temptations  to 


POSITIVE  MORALITY. 


201 


commit  them  Their  moral  sense  required  a  different 
training,  far  more  advanced  instruction.  It  is  true 
that  in  the  later  books  of  the  Old  Testament  there 
might  be  found  a  morality  considerably  more  ad¬ 
vanced,  but  through  the  life  and  example  of  Christ  the 
humblest  of  his  followers  was  advanced  a  long  stage 
beyond  even  this.  No  one  who  had  felt,  however 
feebly,  the  Christian  enthusiasm  could  fail  to  find  even 
in  Deuteronomy  and  Isaiah  something  narrow,  anti¬ 
quated,  and  insufficient  for  his  needs. 

Now  in  what  consisted  precisely  the  addition  made 
by  Christ  to  morality  ? 

It  has  been  already  shown  that  Christ  raised  the 
feeling  of  humanity  from  being  a  feeble  restraining 
power  to  be  an  inspiring  passion.  The  Christian 
moral  reformation  may  indeed  be  summed  up  in  this 

—  humanity  changed  from  a  restraint  to  a  motive. 
We  shall  be  prepared  therefore  to  find  that  while  ear¬ 
lier  moralities  had  dealt  chiefly  in  prohibitions,  Chris¬ 
tianity  deals  in  positive  commands.  And  precisely 
this  is  the  case,  precisely  this  difference  made  the  Old 
Testament  seem  antiquated  to  the  first  Christians. 
They  had  passed  from  a  region  of  passive  into  a  region 
of  active  morality.  The  old  legal  formula  began  4  thou 
shall  not ,’  the  new  begins  with  4  thou  shall. ’  The 
young  man  who  had  kept  the  whole  law  —  that  is, 
who  had  refrained  from  a  number  of  actions- — is 
commanded  to  do  something,  to  sell  his  goods  and 
feed  the  poor.  Condemnation  passed  under  the  Mo¬ 
saic  law  upon  him  who  had  sinned,  who  had  done 
something  forbidden  —  the  soul  that  sinneth  shall  die; 

—  Christ’s  condemnation  is  pronounced  upon  those 

9* 


202 


ECCE  HOMO. 


who  had  not  done  good.  4 1  was  an  hungered  and  ye 
gave  me  no  meat.’  The  sinner  whom  Christ  habitu¬ 
ally  denounces  is  he  who  has  done  nothing.  This 
character  comes  repeatedly  forward  in  his  parables. 
It  is  the  priest  and  Levite  who  passed  by  on  the  other 
side  It  is  Dives,  of  whom  no  ill  is  recorded  except 
that  a  beggar  lay  at  his  gate  full  of  sores  and  yet  no 
man  gave  unto  him.  It  is  the  servant  who  hid  in  a 
napkin  the  talent  committed  to  him.  It  is  the  un¬ 
profitable  servant,  who  has  only  done  what  it  was  his 
duty  to  do. 

Putting  together  these  parables  delivered  at  different 
times  and  to  different  audiences,  yet  all  teaching  the 
same  doctrine,  and  adding  to  them  the  positive  ex¬ 
hortations  to  almsgiving,  to  free  and  lavish  charity, 
we  see  that  Christ’s  conception  of  practical  goodness 
answers  to  his  ideal  of  a  right  state  of  mind.  We 
observed  that  he  considered  the  healthy  condition  of 
character  to  be  an  enthusiastic  or  inspired  condition ; 
we  now  find  that  he  prescribes  just  such  conduct  as 
would  be  prompted  by  such  enthusiastic  feelings. 
And  this  consistency  or  unity  of  his  teaching  will 
appear  still  more  plainly  when  we  consider  what  the 
tenor  of  his  own  life  was.  It  may  sometimes  strike 
us  that  the  time  which  he  devoted  to  acts  of  benefi¬ 
cence  and  the  relief  of  ordinary  physical  evils  might 
have  been  given  to  works  more  permanently  bene¬ 
ficial  to  the  race.  Of  his  two  great  gifts,  the 
power  over  nature  and  the  high  moral  wisdom  and 
ascendency  over  men,  the  former  might  be  the  more 
astonishing,  but  it  is  the  latter  which  gives  him  his 
everlasting  dominion.  He  might  have  left  to  all  sub- 


POSITIVE  MORALITY. 


203 


sequent  ages  more  instruction  if  he  had  bestoived  less 
time  upon  diminishing  slightly  the  mass  of  evil  around 
him,  and  lengthening  by  a  span  the  short  lives  of  the 
generation  in  the  midst  of  which  he  lived.  The  whole 
amount  of  good  done  by  such  works  of  charity  could 
not  be  great,  compared  with  Christ’s  powers  of  doing 
good  ;  and  if  they  were  intended,  as  is  often  supposed, 
merely  as  attestations  of  his  divine  mission,  a  few  acts 
of  the  kind  would  have  served  this  purpose  as  well  as 
many.  Yet  we  may  see  that  they  were  in  fact  the 
great  work  of  his  life  ;  his  biography  may  be  summed 
up  in  the  words,  ‘  he  went  about  doing  good ;  ’  his 
wise  words  were  secondary  to  his  beneficial  deeds ; 
the  latter  were  not  introductory  to  the  former,  but  the 
former  grew  occasionally,  and,  as  it  were,  accidentally 
out  of  the  latter.  The  explanation  of  this  is  that 
Christ  merely  reduced  to  practice  his  own  principle. 
His  morality  required  that  the  welfare  and  happiness 
of  others  should  not  merely  be  remembered  as  a  re¬ 
straint  upon  action,  but  should  be  made  the  principal 
motive  of  action,  and  what  he  preached  in  words 
he  preached  still  more  impressively  and  zealously  in 
deeds.  He  set  the  first  and  greatest  example  of  a  life 
wholly  governed  and  guided  by  the  passion  of  human¬ 
ity.  The  very  scheme  and  plan  of  his  life  differed 
from  that  of  other  men.  He  had  no  personal  pros¬ 
pects,  no  fortune  to  push,  no  ambitions.  A  good  man 
before  had  been  understood  to  be  one  who  in  the  pur¬ 
suit  of  his  own  personal  happiness  is  careful  to  con¬ 
sider  also  the  happiness  of  those  around  him,  declines 
all  prosperity  gained  at  their  expense,  employs  his 
leisure  in  relieving  some  of  their  wants,  and  w  ho, 


304 


ECCE  HOMO. 


lastly,  in  some  extreme  need  or  danger  of  those  con¬ 
nected  with  him,  his  relations  or  his  country,  consents 
to  saciifice  his  own  life  or  welfare  to  theirs.  In  this 
scheme  of  life  humanity  in  its  rudimentary  forms  of 
family  feeling  or  patriotism  enters  as  a  restraining  or 
regulating  principle  ;  only  in  the  extreme  case  does  it 
become  the  mainspring  of  action.  What  with  other 
good  men  was  the  extreme  case,  with  Christ  was  the 
rule.  In  many  countries  and  at  many  different  times 
the  lives  of  heroes  had  been  offered  up  on  the  altar  of 
filial  or  parental  or  patriotic  love.  A  great  impulse 
had  overmastered  them  ;  personal  interests,  the  love 
of  life  and  of  the  pleasures  of  life,  had  yielded  to  a 
higher  motive  ;  the  names  of  those  who  had  made  the 
great  oblation  had  been  held  in  honor  by  succeeding 
ages,  the  place  where  it  was  made  pointed  out,  the 
circumstances  of  it  proudly  recounted.  Such  a  sacri¬ 
fice,  the  crowning  act  of  human  goodness  when  it  rises 
above  itself,  was  made  by  Christ,  not  in  some  moment 
of  elevation,  not  in  some  extreme  emergency,  but  ha¬ 
bitually ;  this  is  meant  when  it  is  said,  he  went  about 
doing  good  ;  nor  was  the  sacrifice  made  for  relative  or 
friend  or  country,  but  for  all  everywhere  who  bear  the 
name  of  man. 

Those  who  stood  by  watching  his  career  felt  that  his 
teaching,  but  probably  still  more  his  deeds,  were  cre¬ 
ating  a  revolution  in  morality  and  were  setting  to  all 
previous  legislations,  Mosaic  or  Gentile,  that  seal  which 
is  at  once  ratification  and  abolition.  While  they 
watched,  they  felt  the  rules  and  maxims  by  which 
they  had  hitherto  lived  die  into  a  higher  and  larger 
life.  They  felt  the  freedom  which  is  gained  by  de- 


POSITIVE  MORALITY. 


205 


stroying  selfishness  instead  of  restraining  it,  by  crucify¬ 
ing  the  flesh  instead  of  circumcising  it.  In  this  new 
rule  they  perceived  all  old  rules  to  be  included,  but  so 
included  as  to  seem  insignificant,  axioms  of  moral  sci- 
ence,  beggarly  elements.  It  no  longer  seemed  to  them 
necessary  to  prohibit  in  detail  and  with  laborious  enu* 
meration  the  different  acts  by  which  a  man  may  injure 
his  neighbor.  Now  that  they  had  at  heart  as  the  first 
of  interests  the  happiness  of  all  with  whom  they  might 
be  brought  in  contact,  they  no  longer  required  a  law, 
for  they  had  acquired  a  quick  and  sensitive  instinct, 
which  restrained  them  from  doing  harm.  But  while 
the  new  morality  incorporated  into  itself  the  old,  how 
much  ampler  was  its  compass !  A  new  continent  in 
the  moral  globe  was  discovered.  Positive  morality 
took  its  place  by  the  side  of  Negative.  To  the  duty 
of  not  doing  harm,  which  may  be  called  justice,  was 
added  the  duty  of  doing  good,  which  may  properly  re 
ceive  the  distinctively  Christian  name  of  Charity. 

And  this  is  the  meaning  of  that  prediction  which 
certain  shepherds  reported  to  have  come  to  them  in  a 
mystic  song  heard  under  the  open  sky  of  night  (‘  car¬ 
mine  perfidias  quod  post  nulla  arguet  aetas  ’)  proclaim¬ 
ing  the  commencement  of  an  era  of  ‘ good  will  to  men  ? 


206 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  LAW  OF  PHILANTHROPY. 

THUS  there  rises  before  us  the  image  of  a  com* 
monwealth  in  which  a  universal  enthusiasm  not 
only  takes  the  place  of  law,  but  by  converting  into  a 
motive  what  was  before  but  a  passive  restraint,  en¬ 
larges  the  compass  of  morality  and  calls  into  existence 
a  number  of  positive  obligations  which  under  the  do¬ 
minion  of  law  had  not  been  acknowledged.  It  is  a 
commonwealth  sustained  and  governed  by  the  desire 
existing  in  the  mind  of  each  of  its  members  to  do  as 
much  good  as  possible  to  every  other  member. 

Doubtless,  a  commonwealth  fully  answering  this  de¬ 
scription  has  never  existed  on  the  earth,  nor  can  exist. 
It  is  an  ideal.  True  that  Christ  always  spoke  of  the 
kingdom  of  God  as  an  actual  and  present  common¬ 
wealth  into  which  men  were  actually  introduced  by 
baptism.  Nevertheless  he  fully  acknowledged  its  ideal 
character,  and  therefore  spoke  of  it  as  at  the  same  time 
future  and  still  waiting  to  be  realized.  Those  who 
were  already  members  of  God’s  kingdom  were  not¬ 
withstanding  instructed  to  pray  that  that  kingdom 
might  come.  And  if  we  look  at  the  facts  around  us 
we  shall  discover  that  the  kingdom  of  God  has  always 
been  in  this  manner  at  once  present  and  future,  at 
once  realized  and  waiting  to  be  realized.  In  other 


THE  LAW  OF  PHILANTHROPY. 


207 


words,  it  has  always  fallen  far  short  of  its  ideal,  and 
yet  it  has  never  ceased  in  some  degree  to  resemble  that 
ideal.  It  has  never  ceased  to  abide  by  the  positive  or 
active  scheme  of  morality,  and  to  occupy  itself  more  or 
less  zealously  with  works  of  beneficence  and  charity. 
We  may  go  further,  and  say  that  the  Christian  view 
of  morality  has  become  universal,  so  that  now  no  man 
is  called  or  considered  good,  whether  he  bear  the 
Christian  name  or  not,  who  does  not  in  some  form  or 
other  exhibit  an  active  love  for  his  kind  and  go  out  of 
his  way  to  do  good. 

The  enthusiasm  of  humanity  in  Christians  is  not 
only  their  supreme  but  their  only  law.  It  has  been 
remarked  that  Christ’s  plan  was  to  kindle  in  the  hearts 
of  his  followers  a  feeling  which  should  dictate  to  them 
the  right  course  of  action  in  all  circumstances.  It  fol¬ 
lows  that  when  we  have  considered  the  nature  of  this 
feeling  we  have  exhausted  the  subject  of  Christian 
morality.  If  Christ  delivered  any  other  more  special 
commands  besides  the  command  to  love,  they  must  be 
either  deducible  from  it,  if  it  be  the  law-making  power 
which  he  pronounced  it  to  be,  or  if  they  do  not  agree 
with  its  dictates  —  if  those  who  have  the  genuine  en¬ 
thusiasm  in  them  find  that  the  literal  obedience  to 
Christ’s  special  commands  is  in  any  instance  irrecon- 
cilable  with  obedience  to  his  universal  command-— 
they  must  bear  in  mind  the  boldness  with  which  he 
himself  treated  the  Mosaic  law  while  acknowledging 
it  to  be  divine.  They  must  remember  that  principles 
last  forever,  but  special  rules  pass  away  with  the 
things  and  conditions  to  which  they  refer.  As  Christ 
2-ciaxed  the  sabbatical  obligation  by  referring  to  the 


208 


ECCE  HOMO. 


object  ot  the  ordinance  —  the  Sabbath  was  made  foi 
man  —  so  should  his  disciples  boldly  and  reverently 
interpret  his  precepts  by  the  light  of  the  principle 
which  governed  them,  the  principle  of  humanity,  and 
obey  as  freemen  not  as  slaves. 

But  to  us  considering  what  are  likely  to  be  the 
characteristics,  the  modes  of  life  and  action,  of  a  per¬ 
son  in  whom  the  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity  has  been 
kindled,  these  special  commands  of  Christ  are  likely 
to  afford  the  very  information  we  seek.  A  principle 
is  best  seen  in  its  practical  applications,  a  rule  in  its 
examples.  It  may  be  said,  then,  that  besides  the  great 
and  one  law  of  love  Christ  delivered  three  special 
injunctions. 

First,  he  enjoined  his  followers  to  apply  themselves 
to  relieving  the  physical  needs  and  distresses  of  their 
fellow-creatures.  Next,  he  commanded  them  to  add 
new  members  to  the  Christian  Church,  and  especially 
to  seek  the  amendment  of  the  neglected,  outcast,  and 
depraved  part  of  society.  Thirdly,  he  enjoined  them 
to  forgive  all  personal  injuries.  These  three  injunc¬ 
tions  we  will  proceed  to  consider  in  order. 

The  command  to  relieve  physical  distress  is  many 
times  repeated.  Christians  are  to  give  alms  ;  in  some 
cases  they  were  commanded  to  give  all  their  wealth  to 
the  poor  ;  in  all  cases  they  were  assured  that  their  final 
acceptance  before  the  Judge  would  depend  upon  the 
zeal  they  had  shown  in  feeding  the  hungry,  welcom¬ 
ing  the  stranger,  and  visiting  the  sick.  The  first 
definite  duty  which  Christ  imposed  upon  his  followers 
when  they  began  to  form  an  organized  society  was 
that  of  travelling  over  the  whole  country  in  order  to 


THE  LAW  OF  PHILANTHROPY.  2C>9 

cuie  diseases.  Lastly,  as  has  been  already  remarked, 
he  was  himself  constantly  and  principally  occupied  in 
the  same  way. 

No  rule  of  life  is  more  plainly  deducible  from  the 
general  law  of  love  than  this.  Higher  benefits  may 
be  conferred  upon  men  than  the  alleviation  of  their 
physical  sufferings,  but  there  can  be  no  more  natural 
expression  and  no  better  test  of  humanity.  Nothing  is 
more  certain  than  that  he  who  can  witness  suffering 
without  an  attempt  to  relieve  it,  when  such  attempt  is 
not  hopeless,  is  not  humane.  The  proposition  is  one 
of  the  most  obvious  that  can  be  expressed  in  words ; 
all  nations  not  utterly  savage  have  in  a  sense  admitted 
it.  Christ’s  command  had  nothing  in  it  which  to  a 
heathen  could  have  seemed  novel,  and  yet,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  was  not  at  all  superfluous.  For  though 
there  was  humanity  among  the  ancients,  there  was  no 
philanthropy.  In  other  words,  humanity  was  known 
to  them  as  an  occasional  impulse,  but  not  as  a  standing 
rule  of  life.  A  case  of  distress  made  painfully  mani¬ 
fest  and  prominent  would  often  excite  compassion  ; 
the  feeling  might  lead  to  a  single  act  of  beneficence : 
but  it  had  not  strength  enough  to  give  birth  to  reflec¬ 
tion  or  to  develop  itself  into  a  speculative  compassion 
for  other  persons  equally  distressed  whose  distresses 
were  not  equally  manifest.  Exceptional  sufferings  bad 
therefore  a  chance  of  relief,  but  the  ordinary  sufferings 
which  affected  whole  classes  of  men  excited  no  pity, 
and  were  treated  as  part  of  the  natural  order  of  things, 
providential  dispensations  which  it  might  even  be  im¬ 
pious  to  endeavor  to  counteract.  Let  us  consider  the 
example  of  slavery.  There  were  in  antiquity  kind 


210 


ECCE  HOMO. 


masters  who  refrained  from  treating  their  slaves  with 
cruelty ;  when  a  slave  was  to  be  punished,  .it  was  not 
hard  to  find  good-humored  ‘precatores’  who  would 
intercede  for  him ;  there  was  humanity  enough  to 
cause  sometimes  a  general  feeling  of  displeasure  when 
a  slave  was  treated  with  outrageous  cruelty.  But  no 
general  protest  was  ever  made  against  the  cruelty  of 
slave-owners.  No  man,  still  less  any  body  of  men, 
thought  it  worth  while  to  give  time  and  trouble  either 
to  alleviating  the  miseries  of  the  slave  or  to  mitigating 
the  harshness  of  the  institution  itself.  If  it  became  clear 
to  any,  as  to  a  few  philosophers  it  did,  that  the  institu¬ 
tion  was  unjust,  and  if  unjust  then  of  necessity  a  mon¬ 
strous  injustice,  they  quietly  noted  the  fact,  but  never 
stirred  hand  or  foot  to  remedy  it,  and  the  majority  of 
mankind  were  not  sufficiently  interested  in  each  other’s 
happiness  to  discover  the  existence  of  any  such  social 
injustice  at  all. 

When  this  lethargy  passed  away  and  humanity  be¬ 
came  a  passion  in  the  first  Christians,  it  issued  by  the 
lips  of  Christ  an  imperative  ordinance  making  the 
sorrows  of  each  a  burden  upon  all.  Henceforth  it 
became  the  duty  of  every  man  gravely  to  consider  the 
condition  of  the  world  around  him.  It  became  his 
duty  to  extend  his  regards  beyond  the  circle  of  his 
personal  interests,  and  sometimes  to  open  the  gate  of 
1  lis  privacy  and  relieve  the  beggar  who  might  be  lying 
outside  full  of  sores.  Nor  was  he  to  wait  till  the 
misery  of  some  fellow-creature  forced  itself  rudely 
upon  li  3  notice  and  affected  his  sensibility.  On  the 
contra ry  he  was  to  bear  habitually  in  liis  heart  the  load 
of  the  world’s  distress.  P>ty  was  to  be  henceforth  no 


THE  LAV1  OF  PHILANTHROPY. 


21  I 


stranger  greeted  occasionally,  but  a  familiar  companion 
and  bosom-friend.  Nor  was  he  to  make  philanthropy 
the  amusement  of  his  leisure,  but  one  of  the  occupa¬ 
tions  of  his  life.  He  was  to  give  alms  ;  that  is,  he  was 
to  relieve  his  fellow-creature  at  the  cost  of  some  per¬ 
sonal  loss  to  himself,  and  Christ  held  that  a  despicable 
Christianity  which  flung  to  the  poor  some  unregarded 
superfluity  ;  he  valued  more  the  mite  which  the  widow 
spared  out  of  her  poverty. 

The  obligation  of  philanthropy  is  for  all  ages,  but 
if  we  consider  the  particular  modes  of  philanthropy 
which  Christ  prescribed  to  his  followers  we  shall  find 
that  they  were  suggested  by  the  special  conditions  of 
that  age.  The  same  spirit  of  love  which  dictated  them, 
working  in  this  age  upon  the  same  problems,  would 
find  them  utterly  insufficient.  No  man  who  loves  his 
kind  can  in  these  days  rest  content  with  waiting  as  a 
servant  upon  human  misery,  when  it  is  in  so  many 
cases  possible  to  anticipate  and  avert  it.  Prevention 
is  better  than  cure,  and  it  is  now  clear  to  all  that  a 
large  part  of  human  suffering  is  preventible  by  im¬ 
proved  social  arrangements.  Charity  will  now,  if  it 
be  genuine,  fix  upon  this  enterprise  as  greater,  more 
widely  and  permanently  beneficial,  and  therefore  more 
Christian  than  the  other.  It  will  not,  indeed,  neglect 
the  lower  task  of  relieving  and  consoling  those  who, 
whether  through  the  errors  and  unskilful  arrangements 
of  society  or  through  causes  not  yet  preventible,  have 
actually  fallen  into  calamity.  Its  compassion  will  be 
all  the  deeper,  its  relief  more  prompt  and  zealous, 
because  it  does  not  generally,  as  former  generators 
did,  recognize  such  calamities  to  be  part  of  man's 


212 


ECCE  HOMO. 


inevitable  destiny.  It  will  hurry  with  the  more  painful 
eagerness  to  remedy  evils  which  it  feels  ought  never  *o 
have  befallen.  But  when  it  has  done  all  which  the 
New  Testament  enjoins,  it  will  feel  that  its  task  is  not 
1  alf  fulfilled.  When  the  sick  man  has  been  visited 
and  everything  done  which  skill  and  assiduity  can  do 
to  cure  him,  modern  charity  will  go  on  to  considei  the 
causes  of  his  malady,  what  noxious  influence  besetting 
his  life,  what  contempt  of  the  laws  of  health  in  his 
diet  or  habits,  may  have  caused  it,  and  then  to  inquire 
whether  others  incur  the  same  dangers  and  may  be 
warned  in  time.  When  the  starving  man  has  been 
relieved,  modern  charity  inquires  whether  any  fault 
in  the  social  system  deprived  him  of  his  share  of 
nature’s  bounty,  any  unjust  advantage  taken  by  the 
strong  over  the  weak,  any  rudeness  or  want  of  culture 
in  himself  wrecking  his  virtue  and  his  habits  of  thrift. 
The  truth  is,  that  though  the  morality  of  Christ  is 
theoretically  perfect,  and  not  subject,  as  the  Mosaic 
morality  was,  to  a  further  development,  the  practical 
morality  of  the  first  Christians  has  been  in  a  great 
degree  rendered  obsolete  by  the  later  experience  of 
mankind,  which  has  taught  us  to  hope  more  and 
undertake  more  for  the  happiness  of  our  fellow-crea¬ 
tures.  The  command  to  care  for  the  sick  and  suffer¬ 
ing  remains  as  divine  as  ever  and  as  necessary  as  ever 
to  be  obeyed,  but  it  has  become,  like  the  Decalogue, 
an  elementary  part  of  morality,  early  learnt,  and  not 
sufficient  to  satisfy  the  Christian  enthusiasm.  As  the 
early  Christians  learnt  that  it  was  not  enough  to  do  no 
harm  and  that  they  were  bound  to  give  meat  to  the 
hungry  and  clothing  to  the  naked,  we  have  learnt  that 


THE  LAW  OF  PHILANTHROPY.  213 

a  still  further  obligation  lies  upon  us  to  prevent,  il 
possible,  the  pains  of  hunger  and  nakedness  from 
being  ever  felt. 

This  last  duty  was  as  far  beyond  die  conception 
of  the  earliest  Christians  as  the  second  was  beyond 
the  conception  of  those  for  whom  Moses  legislated. 
Many  things  concealed  it  from  the  eye  of  the  con* 
science.  First  the  obscure  social  position  of  the  first 
Christians.  They  belonged  for  the  most  part  to  the 
subject  races  of  the  Roman  Empire.  The  govern¬ 
ment  of  affairs,  the  ordering  of  the  social  system, 
was  in  other  hands.  Their  masters  were  jealous  and 
reserved.  Little  concerted  action  of  any  kind  was 
allowed  to  them.  Any  protest  they  might  have  made 
against  social  inequalities  and  injustices  would  have 
died  away  utterly  unheeded.  There  was  no  channel 
through  which  those  who  discerned  an  evil  could 
communicate  with  those  who  had  the  power  of  re¬ 
moving  it.  At  such  a  time  reforms  were  out  of  the 
question.  It  would  have  been  simply  useless  and 
perilous  to  lay  a  hand  upon  the  ponderous  wheels  of 
the  social  system  which  crushed  the  lives  and  limbs  of 
men  at  every  revolution.  All  that  could  be  done  was 
to  be  at  hand  to  tend  the  victims,  to  rescue  as  many 
wounded  as  possible,  and  shed  a  tear  over  the  dead. 

But  the  principal  reason  why  the  philanthropy 
prescribed  by  the  Gospel  is  so  rudimentary  was 
probably  a  different  one.  The  first  Christians  were 
probably  not  so  much  hopeless  of  accomplishing  great 
social  reforms  as  unripe  for  the  conception  of  them. 
The  instinct  of  compassion,  which  joined  to  a  san¬ 
guine  spirit  of  hope  produces  the  modern  systematic 


214 


ECCE  HOMO. 


Reformer,  was  newborn  and  infantine  in  them.  It 
had  as  yet  everything  to  learn,  both  as  to  the  evils 
which  were  to  be  cured  and  as  to  the  possibility  and 
means  of  curing  them.  On  both  points  the  ancients 
labored  under  a  blindness  which  we  can  only  un¬ 
derstand  by  an  effort  of  reflection.  They  did  not 
easily  recognize  evil  to  be  evil,  and  they  did  not 
believe,  or  rather  they  had  never  dreamed,  that  it 
could  be  cured.  Habit  dulls  the  senses  and  puts  the 
critical  faculty  to  sleep.  The  fierceness  and  hardness 
of  ancient  manners  is  apparent  to  us,  but  the  ancients 
themselves  were  not  shocked  by  sights  which  were 
familiar  to  them.  To  us  it  is  sickening  to  think  of 
the  gladiatorial  show,  of  the  massacres  common  in 
Roman  warfare,  of  the  infanticide  practised  by  grave 
and  respectable  citizens,  who  did  not  merely  condemn 
their  children  to  death,  but  often  in  practice,  as  they 
well  knew,  to  what  was  still  worse  —  a  life  of  prostitu¬ 
tion  and  beggary.  The  Roman  regarded  a  gladiatorial 
show  as  we  regard  a  hunt ;  the  news  of  the  slaughter 
of  two  hundred  thousand  Helvetians  by  Caesar  or  half 
a  million  Jews  by  Titus  excited  in  his  mind  a  thrill 
of  triumph ;  infanticide  committed  by  a  friend  ap¬ 
peared  to  him  a  prudent  measure  of  household 
economy.  To  shake  off  this  paralysis  of  the  moral 
sense  produced  by  habit,  to  see  misery  to  be  misery 
and  cruelty  to  be  cruelty,  requires  not  merely  a  strong 
but  a  trained  and  matured  compassion.  It  was  prob¬ 
ably  as  much  as  the  first  Christians  could  learn  at 
once  to  relieve  the  sick,  the  starving,  and  the  desolate. 
Only  after  centuries  of  this  simple  philanthropy 
could  they  learn  to  criticise  the  fundamental  usages 


THE  LAW  OF  PHILANTHROPY.  215 

of  society  itself,  and  acquire  courage  to  pronounce 
that,  however  deeply-rooted  and  time-honored,  they 
were  in  many  cases  shocking  to  humanity. 

Closely  connected  with  this  insensibility  to  the  real 
character  of  common  usages  is  a  positive  unwilling¬ 
ness  to  reform  them.  The  argument  of  prejudice  is 
twofold.  It  is  not  only  that  what  has  lasted  a  long 
time  must  be  right,  but  also  that  what  has  lasted  a 
long  time,  right  or  wrong,  must  be  intended  to  con¬ 
tinue.  That  reverence  for  existing  usages,  which  is 
always  strong  in  human  nature,  was  far  stronger  in 
antiquity  than  it  is  now.  The  belief  in  the  wisdom 
of  ancestors,  which  seems  to  be  caused  by  the  curious 
delusion  that  ancestors  must  needs  be  old  and  there¬ 
fore  deeply  experienced  men,  was  stronger  among  the 
ancients  than  among  the  moderns,  because  their  im¬ 
pression  of  their  ancestors  was  derived  not  from 
history  but  from  poetry.  They  traced  their  institu¬ 
tions  to  semi-divine  or  inspired  legislators,  and  held  it 
almost  impious  to  change  what  came  to  them  marked 
with  such  authority ;  while  we,  however  proud  we 
may  be  of  our  ancestors,  do  not  disguise  from  our¬ 
selves  that  they  were  barbarians,  and  can  hardly  fancy 
their  handiwork  incapable  of  improvement. 

Thus  the  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity,  if  it  move  us 
in  this  age  to  consider  the  physical  needs  of  our  fellow- 
creatures,  will  not  be  contented  with  the  rules  and 
methods  which  satisfied  those  who  first  felt  its  power. 
Breathed  from  the  lips  of  Christ  or  descending  from 
heaven  at  the  Pentecostal  feast,  it  entered  into  men 
who  had  grown  to  manhood  in  a  cruel  and  hard¬ 
hearted  world  and  who  were  accustomed  to  selfishness. 


si  6 


ECCE  HOMO. 


When  Love  was  waked  in  his  dungeon  and  his  fetters 
struck  off,  he  must  at  first  have  found  his  joints  too 
stiff' for  easy  motion.  It  entered  into  the  subjects  of  a 
world-wide  tyranny,  who  never  raised  their  thoughts 
to  large  or  public  interests,  over  which  they  could  not 
hope  to  have  influence.  It  entered  into  men  of  nar¬ 
row  cultivation,  who  had  no  conception  of  progress  or 
of  the  purpose  that  runs  through  the  ages,  no  high 
ideal  of  the  happiness  that  the  race  may  attain  through 
the  labors  of  the  good  of  every  generation  in  its  cause, 
no  suspicion  that  the  whole  framework  of  society 
compared  to  what  it  might  be  was  as  the  hut  of  a 
savage  to  a  Grecian  temple.  It  entered  into  men  who 
in  their  simplicity  revered  the  barbaric  past  and  placed 
behind  them  that  golden  age  for  which  they  should 
have  looked  forwards.  And  therefore  it  could  but 
rouse  them  to  a  philanthropy  which,  though  glorious 
m  the  spirit  that  animated  it,  was  faint  and  feeble  in 
its  enterprises,  the  half-despairing  attempt  of  a  genera¬ 
tion  which  had  more  love  than  hope. 

We  are  advanced  by  eighteen  hundred  years  beyond 
the  apostolic  generation.  All  the  narrowing  influences 
which  have  been  enumerated  have  ceased  to  operate. 
Our  minds  are  set  free,  so  that  we  may  boldly  criticise 
the  usages  around  us,  knowing  them  to  be  but  imper¬ 
fect  essays  towards  order  and  happiness,  and  no  di¬ 
vinely  or  supernaturally  ordained  constitution  which 
it  would  be  impious  to  change.  We  have  witnessed 
improvements  in  physical  well-being  which  incline  us 
to  expect  further  progress  and  make  us  keen-sighted 
to  detect  the  evils  and  miseries  that  remain.  The 
channels  of  communication  between  nations  and  their 


THE  LAW  OF  PHILANTHROl  Y.  217 

governments  are  free,  so  that  the  thought  of  the  pri¬ 
vate  philanthropist  may  mould  a  whole  community. 
And,  finally,  we  have  at  our  disposal  a  vast  treasure 
of  science,  from  which  we  may  discover  what  physi¬ 
cal  wTell-being  is  and  on  what  conditions  it  depends. 
In  these  circumstances  the  Gospel  precepts  of  philan¬ 
thropy  become  utterly  insufficient.  It  is  not  now 
enough  to  visit  the  sick  and  give  alms  to  the  poor. 
We  may  still  use  the  words  as  a  kind  of  motto,  but 
we  must  understand  under  them  a  multitude  of  things 
which  they  do  not  express.  If  we  would  make  them 
express  the  whole  duty  of  philanthropy  in  this  age, 
we  must  treat  them  as  preachers  sometimes  treat  the 
Decalogue,  wrhen  they  represent  it  as  containing  by 
implication  a  whole  system  of  morality.  Christ  com¬ 
manded  his  first  followers  to  heal  the  sick  and  give 
alms,  but  he  commands  the  Christians  of  this  age  — 
if  we  may  use  the  expression  —  to  investigate  the 
causes  of  all  physical  evil,  to  master  the  science  of 
health,  to  consider  the  question  of  education  with  a 
view  to  health,  the  question  of  labor  with  a  view  to 
health,  the  question  of  trade  with  a  view  to  health  ; 
and  while  all  these  investigations  are  made,  wTith  free 
expense  of  energy  and  time  and  means,  to  wTork  out 
the  rearrangement  of  human  life  in  accordance  with 
the  results  they  give. 

Thus  ought  the  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity  to  woik 
in  these  days,  and  thus,  plainly  enough,  it  does  work. 
These  investigations  are  constantly  being  made,  these 
reforms  commenced.  But  perhaps  it  is  rather  among 
those  who  are  influenced  by  general  philanthropy  and 
generosity,  that  is,  by  indirect  or  secondary  Christian- 

10 


2l8 


ECCE  HOMO. 


ity,  than  among  those  who  profess  to  draw  the  Enthu¬ 
siasm  directly  from  its  fount,  that  this  spirit  reigns. 
Perhaps  those  who  appear  the  most  devoted  Chris¬ 
tians  are  somewhat  jealous  of  what  they  may  consider 
this  worldly  machinery.  They  think  they  must  needs 
be  most  Christian  when  they  stick  most  closely  to  the 
New  Testament,  and  that  what  is  utterly  absent  from 
the  New  Testament  cannot  possibly  be  an  impoitant 
part  of  Christianity.  A  great  mistake,  arising  from  a 
wide-spread  paralysis  of  true  Christian  feeling  in  the 
modern  Cnurch !  The  New  Testament  is  not  the 
Christian  law;  the  precepts  of  Apostles,  the  special 
commands  of  Christ,  are  not  the  Christian  law.  To 
make  them  such  is  to  throw  the  Church  back  into  that 
legal  system  from  which  Christ  wrould  have  set  it  free. 
The  Christian  law  is  the  spirit  of  Christ,  that  Enthu¬ 
siasm  of  Humanity  which  he  declared  to  be  the  source 
from  which  all  right  action  flows.  What  it  dictates, 
and  that  alone,  is  law  for  the  Christian.  And  if  the 
progress  of  science  and  civilization  has  put  into  our 
hands  the  means  of  benefiting  our  kind  more  and 
more  comprehensively  than  the  first  Christians  could 
hope  to  do  —  if  instead  of  undoing  a  little  harm  and 
comforting  a  few  unfortunates  we  have  the  means  of 
averting  countless  misfortunes  and  raising,  by  the 
right  employment  of  our  knowledge  and  power  of 
contrivance,  the  general  standard  of  happiness  —  we 
are  not  to  inquire  whether  the  New  Testament  com¬ 
mands  us  to  use  these  means,  but  whether  the  spirit 
of  humanity  commands  it. 

But,  say  the  cautious,  is  it  safe  to  follow  a  mere  en¬ 
thusiasm  ?  If  Christ  is  to  be  believed,  it  is  not  safe  to 


THE  LAW  OF  PHILANTHROPY.  2Ip 

follow  anything  else.  According  to  him  this  Spirit 
was  expressly  given  to  guide  men  into  all  truth.  But, 
they  will  rejoin  —  and  here  the  truth  comes  out  —  we 
like  to  feel  the  stay  of  a  written  precept ;  we  are  not 
conscious  of  any  such  ardent  impulse  directing  us  in¬ 
fallibly  what  to  do.  In  reply  to  which  what  can  we 
do  but  repeat  the  question  of  St.  Paul,  ‘  Into  what  then 
were  ye  baptized  ?  * 


220 


CHAPTER  XVI1T. 

THE  LAW  OF  EDIFICATION. 

PHILANTHROPY  is  the  first  and  easiest  lesson 
in  positive  morality.  It  is  a  duty  in  which  all 
Christian  sects  agree  and  which  with  more  or  less 
zeal  they  perform.  The  means  used  may  differ ;  the 
means  used  in  this  age  differ  widely  from  those  used 
in  the  first  ages ;  but  the  obligation  which  the  first 
Christians  acknowledged  is  substantially  the  same  as 
that  acknowledged  now.  When  they  visited  the  sick 
and  made  provision  for  widows  and  orphans  and  gave 
alms  to  the  poor,  they  were  doing  to  the  best  of  their 
light  and  knowledge  what  philanthropists  of  the  pres¬ 
ent  day  do  when  they  study  the  science  of  physical 
well-being,  search  into  the  causes  of  disease  and  suf¬ 
fering,  and  endeavor  systematically  to  raise  the  stan¬ 
dard  of  happiness  to  the  highest  possible  point. 

Did  the  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity  rest  content  with 
this?  It  might  have  done  so.  Perhaps  there  are 
some  who  believe  that  this  is  in  fact  the  substance  of 
Christianity,  and  that  all  the  rest  has  been  overlaid 
upon  the  original  system.  This  is  not  true,  and  it  will 
hardly  seem  plausible  to  a  reader  who  has  given  even 
a  general  assent  thus  far  to  the  results  of  the  present 
investigation.  But  we  shall  find  it  easier  to  under¬ 
stand  what  the  substance  of  C  hristianity  really  is,  if 


THE  LAW  OF  EDIFICATION. 


221 


we  consider  attentively  what  Christianity  would  have 
been  and  how  it  would  have  worked  if  this  theory  of 
it  were  true.  How  the  persons  who  hold  this  theory 
regard  Christianity  we  may  make  clear  to  ourselves  by 
a  comparison.  The  present  century  has  witnessed  a 
remarkable  softening  of  manners.  A  number  of  cruel 
practices  and  severities,  that  excited  no  disgust  a  hun¬ 
dred  years  ago,  have  now  been  either  swept  away  as 
intolerable  or  are  reluctantly  tolerated  from  a  feeling 
of  necessity.  Among  these  are  the  torture  of  the 
wheel,  the  pillory,  the  punishment  of  death.  And  in 
private  life  during  the  same  period  men  have  greatly 
advanced  in  tenderness,  sympathy,  and  unwillingness 
to  inflict  pain.  This  improvement  was  doubtless 
caused  by  the  decay  of  feudal,  chivalrous,  and  semi- 
barbaric  institutions  which  had  cherished  hard  and 
warlike  habits  of  life.  Society  in  the  last  century 
entered  upon  a  new  period.  For  this  new  period 
there  arose  new  legislators,  and  it  may  probably  be 
said  that  the  fashion  of  gentleness  in  feelings  and 
manners  was  introduced  mainly  through  the  influence 
of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau. 

Now  the  first  century,  like  the  eighteenth,  was  a 
period  of  transition.  It  was  a  period  when  for  the 
first  time  the  civilized  nations  of  the  world  lived 
together  in  almost  unbroken  peace.  War  had  ceased 
to  be  the  main  business  of  life,  the  support  of  virtue 
and  almost  the  only  means  by  which  eminent  virtue 
could  show  itself.  In  these  circumstances  the  world 
was  prepared  for,  was  calling  for,  a  theory  of  virtue 
which  should  be  adapted  to  its  new  condition.  It 
wanted  a  new  pursuit  in  place  of  war,  a  pursuit  in 


222 


ECCE  HOMO. 


which,  as  before  in  war,  the  moral  feelings  might  find 
satisfaction  and  in  which  heroism  might  be  displayed. 
Christ,  it  may  be  maintained,  was  the  social  legislator 
who  appeared  in  answer  to  this  call.  He  induced  a 
large  number  of  people  by  his  eloquence  and  enthusi¬ 
asm  to  devote  themselves  to  philanthropy.  He  opened 
their  eyes  to  the  suffering  and  horrors  of  which  the 
woild  was  full,  and  pointed  out  to  them  a  noble  and 
satisfying  occupation  for  their  energies  and  a  path  to 
the  truest  glory  in  the  enterprise  of  alleviating  this 
misery. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  a  philanthropic  movement 
such  as  is  here  supposed  was  possible  and  would  have 
been  highly  beneficial  in  the  first  century.  As  five 
centuries  before,  a  ferment  in  the  Greek  mind,  arising 
out  of  a  general  advance  in  civilization  and  the  influ¬ 
ence  of  several  remarkable  men,  led  to  the  appearance 
in  the  world  of  an  entirely  new  character  which  has 
never  since  disappeared  —  the  sophist  or  philosopher , 
so  it  was  natural  enough  that  in  the  first  century  of 
the  Christian  era  philanthropists  should  be  heard  of 
for  the  first  time,  and  that  they  should  take  their  rise 
out  of  a  moral  ferment  excited  by  a  great  preacher. 
A  sect  of  philanthropists  might  have  spread  every¬ 
where,  and  gradually  influenced  rulers,  and  by  this 
means  manners  might  have  been  considerably  softened. 
The  Christians  were  no  doubt  such  a  sect,  but  were 
they  merely  this  ?  Suppose  the  philanthropical  scheme 
to  be  far  more  successful  than  it  was  likely  to  be,  sup¬ 
pose  it  to  succeed  perfectly  in  producing  physical  com¬ 
fort  everywhere,  and  banishing  from  human  life  all 
forms  of  pain  and  suffering,  such  a  result  would 


THE  LAW  OF  EDIFICATION. 


223 


certainly  not  have  been  satisfactory  to  Christ.  lie 
described  in  one  of  his  parables  a  man  such  as  philan¬ 
thropy  might  produce  if  it  were  perfectly  successful,  a 
man  enjoying  every  physical  comfort  and  determining 
to  give  himself  up  to  enjoyment,  but  he  describes  him 
rather  with  horror  than  with  satisfaction.  And  though 
so  much  of  his  life  was  passed  in  relieving  distress, 
we  never  find  him  representing  physical  happiness  as 
a  desirable  condition  ;  on  the  contrary,  most  of  his 
beatitudes  are  pronounced  upon  those  who  suffer. 
The  ideal  of  the  economist,  the  ideal  of  the  Old  Tes¬ 
tament  writers,  does  not  appear  to  be  Christ’s.  He 
feeds  the  poor,  but  it  is  not  his  great  object  to  bring 
about  a  state  of  things  in  which  the  poorest  shall  be 
sure  of  a  meal ;  he  recalls  dead  men  to  life,  but  his 
wisdom  does  not,  like  Solomon’s,  carry  length  of  days 
in  her  right  hand,  and  in  her  left  hand  riches  and 
honor.  Rather  does  it  carry  with  it  suffering,  perse¬ 
cution,  and  the  martyr’s  death.  He  corrects  him  who 
said,  Blessed  are  they  who  shall  eat  bread  in  the  king¬ 
dom  of  God.  The  kingdom  of  God  does  not  exist 
for  the  sake  of  eating  and  drinking.  He  preaches 
peace,  and  yet  he  says,  I  am  not  come  to  send  peace 
but  a  sword. 

The  paradox  is  not  very  difficult  to  explain.  A 
good  parent  will  be  careful  of  the  physical  condition 
of  his  child,  will  tend  him  assiduousl}7"  in  sickness, 
relieve  his  wants,  and  endeavor  in  every  way  to  make 
him  happy.  But  a  good  parent  will  not  rest  content 
with  seeing  his  child  comfortable  and  secure  from  pain. 
He  will  consider  that  other  and  greater  things  than 
ph}'sicrl  comfort  are  to  be  procured  for  him,  and  foi 


224 


ECCE  HOMO. 


the  sake  of  these  greater  things  he  will  even  sacrifice 
some  of  his  comforts  and  see  with  satisfaction  that  the 
child  suffers  a  certain  amount  of  pain  and  wants  some 
pleasures.  The  affection  which  pets  and  pampers  its 
object  is  not  excessive,  as  it  is  sometimes  described, 

but  a  feeble  affection,  or  at  least  the  affection  of  a 

feeble  nature.  Now  the  love  of  Christ  for  human 
nature  was  no  such  feeble  affection.  It  was  not  an 
exceedingly  keen  sensibility  which  made  him  feel  more 
painfully  than  other  men  the  sufferings  of  which  the 
world  is  full.  It  was  a  powerful,  calm,  and  contem¬ 
plative  love.  It  was  a  love  of  men  for  what  they  may 

be,  a  love  of  the  ideal  man  in  each  man,  or,  as  Christ 

himself  might  have  said,  a  love  of  the  image  of  God 
in  each  man.  Accordingly  the  Enthusiasm  of  Human¬ 
ity  in  him  did  not  propose  to  itself  principally  to  pro¬ 
cure  gratifications  and  enjoyments  for  the  senses  of 
men,  but  to  make  the  divine  image  more  glorious  in 
them  and  to  purge  it  as  far  as  possible  of  impurities. 

That  ideal  which  Christ  contemplated  directly  in 
God  his  followers  found  in  him.  And  thus  arises  the 
second  great  obligation  of  Positive  Morality,  the  obli¬ 
gation,  namely,  to  use  every  means  to  raise  men  to  the 
moral  elevation  of  Christ.  This  obligation  was  brought 
home  to  the  Christian  by  the  natural  working  of  the 
Enthusiasm  of  Humanity  in  him.  Excited  as  it  was 
b}7-  the  contemplation  of  Christ,  it  could  not  be  con¬ 
tented  with  diffusing  physical  well-being.  He  who 
had  himself  become  humane  desired  indeed  that  others 
should  be  happy,  but  still  more  that  they  too  should 
become  humane.  This  dictate  of  the  Christian  spirit 
Christ  threw  into  the  form  of  a  special  command  when 


THK  LAW  OF  EDIFICATION. 


225 


lie  bade  his  disciples  go  everywhere,  not  merely  heal¬ 
ing  diseases,  but  also  proclaiming  the  kingdom  of  God 
and  baptizing.  It  was  natural  that  the  command 
should  take  this  particular  form,  because,  as  we  have 
seen,  Christ  regarded  it  as  essential  to  the  diffusion  of 
true  humanity  that  men  should  form  themselves  into  0 
society  of  which  humanity  should  be  the  law,  and  that 
they  should  signalize  their  entrance  into  it  by  under¬ 
going  a  special  rite  of  purification. 

But  here  again  we  remark  that  the  command  is 
limited  by  the  peculiar  condition  of  the  nascent 
Church,  and  that  if  it  were  performed  to  the  utmost 
the  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity  would  still  remain  en¬ 
tirely  unsatisfied.  There  comes  a  time  when  the  work 
of  baptism  has  been  already  accomplished.  We,  for 
example,  live  in  the  midst  of  a  baptized  community ; 
the  command  has  become  for  us  unnecessary  or  rather 
impossible  to  be  fulfilled.  But  to  meet  the  new  cir¬ 
cumstances,  though  Christ  is  silent,  the  spirit  of  Christ 
issues  a  new  command.  The  Enthusiasm  of  Hu¬ 
manity  tells  us  that  though  all  are  baptized  all  are  not 
yet  truly  humane.  It  may  be  true  that  almost  all  are 
conscious  of  impulses  and  compunctions  which  are 
due  directly  or  indirectly  to  Christianity,  but  the  glow¬ 
ing  humanity  which  alone  Christ  valued  is  surely  not 
even  common,  much  less  universal,  among  the  bap¬ 
tized.  To  rekindle  this  in  those  who  have  lost  it, 
or  in  those  who  though  nominally  Christians  have 
never  really  conceived  it,  or  in  those  who  have 
adopted  one  of  the  countless  perversions  of  Chris¬ 
tianity,  and  have  never  understood  that  this  enthusi¬ 
asm  is  the  true  Christian  law,  here  is  work  for  the 

10  * 


320 


ECCE  HOMO. 


Christian  concerning  which  Christ  left  no  command 
because  it  could  not  arise  in  the  infant  Church.  As 
early,  however,  as  the  Apostolic  age  itself,  it  had  be¬ 
gun  to  be  the  principal  occupation  of  Christians.  St. 
Paul’s  Epistles  throughout  regard  the  Christian  Enthu¬ 
siasm  as  liable  to  remission,  depression,  and  languor. 
Continually  therefore  he  exhorts  the  Christians  to 
whom  he  writes  to  remember  their  ideal.  His  admo¬ 
nitions  to  activity  in  philanthropical  works  are  brief 
and  few  though  always  earnest ;  but  when  he  en¬ 
deavors  to  keep  alive  their  humanity,  when  he  admon¬ 
ishes  them  to  excite  and  cherish  it  in  each  other,  then 
he  is  copious  and  vehement.  This  is  the  subject 
nearest  his  heart.  His  anxiety  is  not  so  much  to  hear 
that  the  widows  and  orphans  are  duly  supplied,  and 
that  within  the  circle  of  the  Christian  community  want 
is  disappearing  and  the  ills  of  life  are  sensibly  dimin¬ 
ished,  as  to  be  informed  that  his  converts  are  conform¬ 
ing  gradually  more  and  more  to  their  ideal.  This 
conformity  he  expresses  by  various  figures  of  speech. 
It  is  to  4  put  on  Christ,’  4  to  put  on  the  new  man,  the 
new  Adam  ;  ’  it  is  4  to  have  Christ  dwelling  in  the 
heart,’  4  Christ  formed  within  ;  ’  it  is  4  to  fill  up  the 
measure  of  the  stature  of  the  fulness  of  Christ.’ 

So  important  a  duty  necessarily  received  a  name. 
As  the  moral  science  of  that  time  furnished  no  term 
which  could  describe  it,  the  Christians  denoted  it  by  a 
metaphorical  expression  which  has  passed  into  modern 
languages.  It  has  been  remarked  that  the  Christian 
summum  bonum  was  a  social  one  ,  it  was  the  welfare 
of  the  Christian  society.  The  whole  duty  of  the  Chris¬ 
tian  was  to  fill  satisfactorily  his  place  in  that  society. 


THE  LAW  OF  EDIFICATION.  2  2J 

* 

Now  it  is  a  universal  usage  of  language  that  the  build¬ 
ing  in  which  any  society  meets  may  be  put  for  the 
society  itself,  and  vice  versa  that  the  building  may  be 
called  after  the  society.  The  word  house  means  some- 
limes  the  building  in  which  a  family  lives,  sometimes 
(he  family  that  lives  in  such  a  building ;  a  college  is 
sometimes  a  building  in  which  learning  is  cultivated, 
sometimes  the  society  that  cultivates  learning  in  such 
a  building.  The  same  remark  applies  to  all  similar 
words,  such  as  club,  bank,  hospital,  city.  Among 
others  it  applies  to  the  word  church,  which  in  like 
manner  may  be  used  either  to  describe  a  building  or  a 
society.  This  inveterate  habit  of  language  indicates 
the  intimate  association  which  forms  itself  in  every 
mind  between  the  two  notions  of  a  corporation  and  an 
edifice .  No  one  can  speak  long  in  impassioned  or 
rhetorical  style  about  any  society  whatever  without 
introducing  metaphors  drawn  from  architecture.  The 
Christian  writers  fell  immediately  into  the  practice,  and 
in  doing  so  followed  the  example  of  Christ  who  said, 
4  Upon  this  rock  will  I  build  my  church/  In  this 
style  of  language,  then,  as  the  Church  is  a  building, 
so  each  member  of  it  is  a  stone,  and  the  prosperity  of 
the  Church  is  expressed  by  the  orderly  arrangement 
and  secure  cementing  of  the  stones.  It  follows  that 
the  labor  of  making  men  Christians  and  inspiring 
them  with  the  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity  is  nothing 
else  but  the  arrangement  and  cementing  of  the  stones. 
In  other  words,  it  is  building.  This  then  was  the 
name  which  the  Christians  adopted.  4  Let  everything 
be  done,’  says  St.  Paul,  4  with  a  view  to  building? 
1  he  phrase  has  been  adopted  into  modern  languages, 


228 


ECCE  HOMO. 


yet  in  such  a  way  as  to  destroy  all  its  force.  Instead 
of  being  translated,  it  has  been  directly  transferred 
from  the  ecclesiastical  Latin  of  the  first  centuries  in 
the  form  of  edification.  The  Christian  law,  then, 
which  we  are  now  discussing,  may  be  called  the  Law 
of  Edification. 

This  second  Christian  obligation — the  obligation, 
6  s  the  same  Apostle  expresses  it,  to  ‘  provoke  others 
to  love  9  —  is  as  much  greater  than  the  obligation  of 
philanthropy  as  it  is  a  better  thing  for  a  man  to  be 
good  than  to  be  prosperous.  And  in  all  cases  of  con¬ 
flict  between  the  two  obligations  the  greater  of  course 
suspends  the  less.  Christianity  therefore  is  not  iden¬ 
tical  with  philanthropy,  nor  does  it  always  dictate  the 
course  of  action  which  may  directly  issue  in  happiness 
and  prosperity  for  others.  It  regards  temporal  pros¬ 
perity  as  no  indispensable  or  unmixed  blessing ;  its 
summum  bonum  is  that  healthy  condition  of  the  soul 
in  which,  influenced  by  the  instinct  of  humanity,  it 
becomes  incapable  of  sin.'  This  healthy  condition  is 
called  in  the  dialect  of  Christianity  c  life  ’  or  ‘  salva¬ 
tion/  and  Christ  was  in  the  habit  of  declaring  it  to  be 
a  blessing  in  comparison  of  which  temporal  happiness 
is  utterly  insignificant.  There  is  nothing,  he  says, 
which  a  man  can  give  in  exchange  for  his  soul;  if  he 
gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  that ,  what  is  he  the 
better?  All  manner  of  physical  suffering,  therefoie,  is 
to  be  cheerfully  endured  rather  than  that  the  life  oi  the 
soul  should  be  sacrificed  or  enfeebled.  If  danger  as- 
sail  the  soul  through  the  right  hand  or  the  right  eye, 
and  it  can  be  averted  in  no  other  way,  we  are  to  cut 
off  the  hand  or  pluck  out  the  eye.  He  gives  us  at  the 


THE  LAW  OF  EDIFICATION.  229 

same  time  to  understand  that  not  only  have  we  some¬ 
times  to  choose  between  temporal  happiness  and 
spiritual  health,  but  that  suffering  and  sorrow  have 
often  a  direct  tendency  to  produce  spiritual  health. 
They  may  serve  the  purpose  of  a  wholesome  disci¬ 
pline.  Accordingly  he  pronounces  a  blessing  on  those 
that  mourn,  and  speaks  ominously  and  forebodingly 
of  the  temptations  attending  riches  and  a  state  of  tem¬ 
poral  prosperity. 

If  we  are  not  to  regard  prosperity  as  the  first  of 
blessings  for  ourselves,  if  we  are  not  to  seek  it  in  pref¬ 
erence  to  everything  else  for  ourselves,  if  we  are  to 
acquiesce  sometimes  for  ourselves  in  a  state  of  suffer¬ 
ing,  it  follows  that  we  ought  to  do  so  for  our  neigh¬ 
bors.  A  humane  man  will  certainly  be  pleased  to  see 
his  fellow-creatures  enjoying  comfort,  but  if  he  be 
deeply  humane  he  will  never  be  satisfied  with  this  ;  if 
their  prosperity  last  long  and  be  unalloyed  he  will  even 
become  dissatisfied,  he  will  jealously  watch  for  the 
appearance  of  those  vices  which  prosperity  breeds  — 
insolence,  selfishness,  superficiality  in  thought,  infir¬ 
mity  in  purpose,  and  a  luxurious  baseness  which  is 
the  death  of  the  soul.  If  he  discern  these  vices,  if 
they  show  themselves  visibly,  the  humane  man  may  at 
last  come  to  call  out  for  sorrow;  or,  if  this  be  too 
boldly  said,  yet  at  least  if  to  men  thus  demoralized 
calamities  happen  at  last,  and  wholesome  labors  be 
imposed,  and  they  be  made  to  support  some  stem 
agony  of  endurance,  he  will  witness  the  visitation  with 
a  solemn  satisfaction,  and  far  more  than  he  rejoiced 
before  to  see  their  pleasure  will  he  exult  to  see  the 
gates  cf  that  delusive  Paradise  closed  again,  and  the 


230 


ECCE  HOMO. 


fiery  cherubim  return  to  guard  from  man  the  fruit  lie 
cannot  see  without  temptation  nor  taste  without  ruin. 

Christ,  therefore,  is  not  merely  the  originator  of  phi¬ 
lanthropy  ;  and  indeed  the  church  has  sustained  anoth  ■ 
er  part  on  earth  besides  that  of  the  Sister  of  Charity. 
She  has  not  merely  sat  by  sick-beds,  and  played  tho 
Lady  Bountiful  to  poor  people,  and  rushed  between 
meeting  armies  on  the  field  of  battle  to  reconcile  the 
combatants  by  reminding  them  of  their  brotherhood. 
Christianity  is  not  quite  the  mild  and  gentle  system  it 
is  sometimes  represented  to  be.  Christ  was  meek  and 
lowly,  but  he  was  something  beside.  What  was  he 
when  he  faced  the  leading  men  among  his  countrymen 
and  denounced  them  as  a  brood  of  vipers  on  their  way 
to  the  infernal  fires?  That  speech  which  has  been 
quoted  above,  4 1  am  not  come  to  send  peace  but  a 
sword,’  will  appear,  when  considered,  to  be  the  most 
tremendous  speech  ever  uttered.  Burke’s  wish  that 
the  war  with  France  which  he  foresaw  might  prove  a 
long  war  has  been  stigmatized  as  horrible.  It  was 
certainly  an  awful  wish  ;  it  may  well  cause  those  who 
look  only  to  physical  and  immediate  happiness  to 
shudder  ;  but  from  Burke’s  premises  it  was  justifiable. 
Christ’s  solemn  resolution  to  persevere  in  what  he  felt 
to  be  his  mission,  in  spite  of  the  clearest  foreknowledge 
of  the  suffering  and  endless  bloodshed  which  his  per¬ 
severance  would  cause  to  that  race  of  which  he  was  the 
martyr,  was  grounded  on  a  similar  confidence  that  the 
evil  was  preparatory  to  a  greater  good,  and  that  if  some 
happiness  was  to  be  sacrificed,  it  would  be  the  price  of 
a  great  moral  advance.  But  the  resolution  was  not¬ 
withstanding  a  most  awful  one,  and  should  impres- 


THE  LAW  OF  EDIFICATION. 


23I 


sively  teach  us  not  to  confound  Christianity  with  mere 
philanthropy,  not  to  suppose  that  what  is  shocking  is 
of  necessity  unchristian,  not  to  confound  warmhearted¬ 
ness,  bonhommie,  or  feminine  sensibilities  with  the 
Enthusiasm  of  Humanity. 

It  has  been  remarked  above  that  the  machinery  of 
philanthropy  among  the  early  Christians  had  all  the 
rudeness  which  it  might  be  expected  to  have  at  a  time 
of  little  freedom,  either  of  action  or  organization.  In¬ 
stead  of  studying  comprehensively  the  science  of  hu¬ 
man  well-being  and  devising  systematic  methods  of 
producing  and  increasing  it,  they  contented  themselves 
with  tending  the  sick,  pensioning  widows  and  orphans, 
and  distributing  alms.  The  means  they  adopted  for 
performing  the  second  great  obligation,  that  of  con¬ 
verting  mankind  to  Christian  humanity  or  holiness, 
were  equally  simple  and  below  the  requirements  and 
powers  of  the  present  age.  They  used  the  one  instru¬ 
ment  of  direct  moral  suasion.  To  the  heathen  they 
; preached ,  to  those  already  baptized  they  fii'ofthesied. 
They  related  to  their  converts  the  principal  facts  of 
Christ’s  life,  they  told  the  story  of  his  death  and  resur¬ 
rection,  they  instructed  them  in  the  morality  and  the¬ 
ology  he  had  given  to  his  Church.  More  effectively 
than  this,  but  without  organization  or  contrivance, 
there  worked  within  the  Church  and  outwards  round 
its  whole  circumference  the  living,  diffusive,  assimila¬ 
tive  power  of  the  Christian  Humanity.  As  there  are 
still  many  Christians  who  cling  to  the  old  modes  of 
philanthropy  because  they  are  the  only  modes  pre¬ 
scribed  by  the  New  Testament,  so  may  the  modern 
Churcl  be  fairly  charged  with  confining  itself  too  ex- 


232 


ECCE  HOMO. 


clusively  to  preaching  and  catechising  in  the  work  of 
conversion  and  edification.  Preaching  and  catechis¬ 
ing  may  still  be  useful  and  important,  but  many  other 
instruments  are  now  at  our  command,  and  these  instru¬ 
ments  it  is  none  the  less  the  duty  of  Christians  to  use 
because  the  New  Testament  says  nothing  about  them. 

The  enthusiasm  can  indeed  hardly  be  kindled  except 
by  a  personal  influence  acting  through  example  or  im¬ 
passioned  exhortation.  When  Christ  would  kindle  it 
in  his  disciples  he  breathed  on  them  and  said,  4  Re¬ 
ceive  \he  Holy  Spirit ;  ’  intimating  by  this  great  sym¬ 
bolical  act  that  life  passes  into  the  soul  of  a  man,  as  it 
were  by  contagion  from  another  living  soul.  It  may 
indeed  come  to  a  man  through  the  mere  bounty  of 
God,  but  of  means  that  men  can  use  to  kindle  it  there 
is  none  beside  their  personal  influence  passing  either 
directly  from  man  to  man  or  diffused  by  means  of 
books.  Contrivance,  however,  and  organization  may 
do  much  in  marshalling  this  personal  influence,  in 
bringing  it  to  bear  upon  the  greatest  number  and  in 
the  most  effective  way ;  it  may  also  do  much  in  pre¬ 
venting  men’s  natural  susceptibility  to  the  enthusiasm 
from  being  dulled  by  adverse  circumstances,  and  in 
giving  fuel  to  the  enthusiasm  when  it  already  burns. 
As  it  is  the  duty  of  Christians  to  study  human  well¬ 
being  systematically  with  a  view  to  philanthropy,  so 
is  it  their  duty  with  a  view  to  edification  to  consider  at 
large  the  conditions  most  favorable  to  goodness,  and 
by  what  social  arrangements  temptations  to  vice  may 
be  reduced  to  the  lowest  point  and  goodness  have  the 
most  and  the  most  powerful  motives.  Here  is  a  whole 
field  of  investigation  upon  which  Christians  are  bound 


THE  LAW  OF  EDIFICATION. 


233 


to  enter ;  much  doubtless  has  been  already  done  in  it, 
but  not  perhaps  with  much  system,  nor  has  it  been 
sufficiently  felt  that  it  is  a  principal  part  of  the  work 
belonging  properly  to  the  Church. 

The  conditions  most  favorable  to  goodness  !  It  will 
be  well  to  consider  in  some  detail  what  these  are, 
remembering  .always  that  by  goodness  is  meant  the 
Christian  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity.  How  may  me  a 
be  made  most  susceptible  of  this  Enthusiasm  ? 

It  has  been  shown  that  the  attractive  powei  which 
throughout  has  acted  upon  men,  which  has  preserved 
them  from  that  isolation  which  is  the  opposite  of  Chris¬ 
tianity,  and  which  has  united  them  in  those  communi¬ 
ties  of  clan  or  city  or  state  which  were  the  germs  and 
embryos  of  the  Universal  Christian  Republic,  is  the  tie 
of  kindred.  The  state,  we  have  seen,  was  founded  on 
a  fiction  of  blood-relationship,  and  Christianity  uses 
the  dialect  of  blood-relationship  when  it  pronounces 
all  mankind  to  be  brothers.  What  is  true  of  mankind 
in  general  will  be  found  to  be  true  in  this  case  of  the 
individual  man.  He  in  whom  the  family  affections 
have  been  awakened  will  have  a  heart  most  open  to 
the  passion  of  humanity.  It  is  useless  to  tell  a  man  to 
love  all  mankind  if  he  has  never  loved  any  individ¬ 
ual  of  mankind  and  only  knows  by  report  what  love 
is.  It  should  be  recognized  that  family  affection  in 
some  form  is  the  almost  indispensable  root  of  Chris¬ 
tianity.  This  family  affection  is  rightly  called  natural, 
that  is  to  say,  it  will  come  of  itself  if  it  be  not  artifi¬ 
cially  hindered.  It  becomes  therefore  a  principal  duty 
of  Christians  to  remove  all  hinderances  out  of  the  way 
of  family  affection. 


ECCE  HOMO. 


*34 

Now  what  arc  these  hinderances?  They  are  innu¬ 
merable,  arising  out  of  the  endless  incompatibilities 
of  temperament  and  taste,  incompatibilities  of  natural 
difference  and  those  finer  incompatibilities,  which  are 
more  exquisitely  painful  and  more  malignant,  arising 
out  of  small  differences  in  general  resemblance.  For 
the  removal  of  such  hinderances  no  general  rules  can 
be  laid  down.  In  resisting  and  removing  them  the 
higher  degrees  of  Christian  tact  win  their  triumphs. 
Meanwhile  there  are  other  hinderances  of  a  simpler 
kind  which  are,  to  an  indefinite  degree,  removable 
and  of  which  some  may  here  be  mentioned.  We  may 
here  mention  marriages  of  interest  or  convenience,  the 
children  of  which,  often  originally  of  dull  and  poor 
organization,  grow  up  in  an  atmosphere  of  cynical 
coldness  which  speedily  kills  whatever  blossoms  of 
kindliness  their  nature  may  put  forth.  In  another 
class  of  society  there  rages  another  terrible  destroyer 
of  natural  affection,  hunger.  Christ  spoke  of  suffering 
as  a  wholesome  discipline,  but  there  is  an  extreme 
degree  of  suffering  which  seems  more  ruinous  to  the 
soul  than  the  most  enervating  prosperity.  When  ex¬ 
istence  itself  cannot  be  supported  without  an  unceasing 
and  absorbing  struggle,  then  there  is  no  room  in  the 
heart  for  any  desire  but  the  wretched  animal  instinct 
of  self-preservation,  which  merges  in  an  intense,  piti¬ 
able,  but  scarcely  blamable  selfishness.  What  tender¬ 
ness,  what  gratitude,  what  human  virtue  can  be  ex¬ 
pected  of  the  man  who  is  holding  a  wolf  by  the  ears? 

To  persons  who,  from  either  of  these  causes  or  from 
others  that  might  be  mentioned,  have  become  destitute 
of  natural  affection,  preaching  and  catechising  are 


THE  LAW  OF  EDIFICATION. 


235 


almost  useless.  Your  declamations  will  rouse  in  them 
no  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity,  but,  it  may  be,  an  ec¬ 
stasy  of  fright  or  fanaticism.  Instruction  in  morality 
or  theology  will  not  make  them  moral  01  religious, 
but  only  a  little  more  knowing  and  self-satisfied.  A 
greal  example  of  humanity  put  visibly  before  them 
may  indeed  rouse  in  them  the  sense  they  want,  but  it 
will  never  have  the  healthy  keenness  and  calmness  it 
might  have  had,  if  it  had  been  roused  in  the  manner 
appointed  by  nature.  Therefore  all  Christians  who 
take  an  adequate  view  of  Christian  obligations  will 
consider  that  the  removal  of  all  such  social  abuses  as 
destroy  natural  affection,  and  by  doing  so  kill  Chris¬ 
tian  humanity  in  its  germ,  is  among  the  first  of  those 
obligations. 

But  again,  where  natural  affection  exists,  a  peculiar 
perversion  of  it  requires  to  be  guarded  against,  which 
often  makes  it  hostile  to  that  very  Humanity  of  which 
it  is  properly  the  rudimentary  form.  It  is  apt  to  take 
a  clannish,  exclusive  shape,  and  to  inspire  not  merely 
no  love  but  positive  hatred  towards  those  who  are 
without  the  circle  of  blood-relationship.  It  has  been 
shown  above  how  the  very  same  attraction  which 
created  states,  isolated  them,  created  national  distinc¬ 
tions,  and,  arising  out  of  national  distinctions,  a  per¬ 
manent  condition  of  international  hostility.  This  State 
of  things  is  still  far  indeed  from  being  obsolete,  and 
the  same  abuse  exists  within  the  bosom  of  states  in 
another  form.  Divisions  arise,  embittered  by  supei- 
ciliousness  on  the  one  side  and  envy  on  the  other, 
between  the  high-born  and  the  low-born,  and  other 
advantages  such  as  wealth  and  acquired  station  are 


236 


ECCE  HOMO. 


eagerly  seized  by  family  affection  as  an  excuse  for 
turning  itself  into  an  exclusive  partiality.  The  dis¬ 
tinctions  themselves  of  birth  and  wealth  are  substantial 
realities  which  cannot  be  treated  as  if  they  did  not 
exist.  There  are  superior  and  inferior  breeds  of  men 
as  of  other  animals,  and  the  rich  man  will  be  led  by 
his  wealth  into  a  mode  of  life  which  must  remove  him 
to  a  certain  distance  from  the  poor  man.  The  danger 
is  lest  the  distinction  and  the  distance  should  turn  to  a 
moral  division,  to  a  separation  of  interests  and  sympa¬ 
thies  in  which  Christian  union  perishes.  Therefore 
against  all  unjust  privilege,  against  all  social  arrange¬ 
ments  which  make  the  prosperity  of  one  man  incom¬ 
patible  with  the  prosperity  of  another,  the  Christian  is 
bound  by  his  humanity  to  watch  and  protest. 

But  if  this  danger  also  is  escaped,  and  natural  affec¬ 
tion  be  present  without  exclusiveness,  to  develop  it 
into  the  full  Christian  Enthusiasm,  there  remains  many 
other  means  besides  preaching  and  purely  religious 
instruction.  Of  these  the  most  important  1  s  educa¬ 
tion ,  which  is  certainly  a  far  more  powerful  agent 
than  preaching,  inasmuch  as  in  the  first  place  it  acts 
upon  the  human  being  at  an  age  when  he  is  more 
susceptible  of  all  influences,  and  particularly  of  moral 
ones,  than  he  afterwards  becomes,  and  in  the  second 
place  it  acts  upon  him  incessantly,  intensely,  and  by 
countless  different  methods  for  a  series  of  years,  where¬ 
as  preaching  acts  upon  him  intermittently,  for  the  most 
part  faintly,  and  by  one  uniform  method.  Preaching 
is  moral  suasion  delivered  formally  at  stated  intervals. 
In  good  education  there  is  an  equal  amount  of  moral 
suasion,  delivered  far  more  impressively  because  de- 


THE  LAW  OF  EDIFICATION.  237 

livered  to  individuals  and  at  the  moment  when  the 
need  arises,  while  besides  moral  suasion  other  instru¬ 
ments  are  employed.  Of  these  the  principal  is  Au¬ 
thority,  a  most  potent  and  indispensable  agent.  We 
have  traced  above  the  process  by  which  mankind  were 
ripened  for  the  reception  of  Christianity.  For  many 
ages  peremptory  laws  were  imposed  upon  different 
nations  and  enforced  by  a  machinery  of  punishment. 
During  these  ages,  out  of  the  whole  number  of  per¬ 
sons  who  obeyed  these  laws  very  few  either  knew  or 
inquired  why  they  had  been  imposed.  But  all  the 
time  these  nations  were  forming  habits  of  action  which 
gradually  became  so  familiar  to  them  that  the  nations 
who  wanted  similar  habits  became  to  them  objects  of 
contempt  and  disgust  as  savages.  At  last  the  time 
came  when  the  hidden  principle  of  all  law  was  re¬ 
vealed  and  Christian  humanity  became  the  self-legis¬ 
lating  life  of  mankind.  Thus  did  the  Law  bring  men 
to  Christ.  Now  what  the  Law  did  for  the  race  the 
schoolmaster  does  for  the  individual.  He  imposes 
rules,  assigning  a  penalty  for  disobedience.  Under 
this  rule  the  pupil  grows  up,  until  order,  punctuality, 
industry,  justice  and  mercy  to  his  school-fellows  be¬ 
come  the  habits  of  his  life.  Then  when  the  time 
comes,  the  strict  rule  relaxes,  the  pupil  is  taken  into 
the  master’s  confidence,  his  obedience  becomes  reason¬ 
able,  £  living  morality.  If  the  teacher  be  one  whose 
own  morality  attains  the  standard  of  the  Christian 
Enthusiasm,  the  pupil  is  more  likely  to  be  initiated 
into  the  same  supreme  mystery  than  if  he  stood  in  any 
other  relation  to  him.  There  is  no  moral  influence  in 
the  world,  excepting  that  occasionally  exerted  by  great 


ECCE  HOMO. 


238 

men,  comparable  to  that  of  a  good  teacher ;  there  is 
no  position  in  which  a  man’s  merits,  considered  as 
moral  levers,  have  so  much  purchase.  Therefore  the 
whole  question  of  education  —  what  the  method  of  it 
should  be,  what  men  should  be  employed  in  it  —  is 
preeminently  a  question  in  which  Christians  are  bound 
by  their  Humanity  to  interest  themselves. 

Let  us  advance  a  step  farther,  and  in  considering  the 
conditions  favorable  to  goodness  it  will  be  convenient 
to  isolate  a  particular  case.  We  have  before  us,  then, 
the  child  of  parents  to  whose  mutual  love  he  owes  a 
healthy  organization  and  a  fresh  flow  of  natural  feel¬ 
ing,  to  the  moderate  prosperity  of  whose  condition  he 
owes  an  exemption  from  brutalizing  anxieties,  and 
who  ha^  e  instilled  into  him  no  prejudice  of  caste. 
He  has  had  a  teacher  who  trained  him  as  Providence 
trained  mankind,  assuming  at  the  proper  season  the 
part  of  Moses,  then  that  of  Isaiah,  then  that  of  the 
Baptist,  ushering  him  into  the  very  presence  of  Christ. 
Into  that  presence  he  has  entered,  and  we  see  a  young 
man  in  whose  mind  there  has  ripened  by  natural 
development  out  of  the  sense  of  duty  to  kindred  and 
country  a  commanding  sense  of  duty  to  that  Universal 
Commonwealth  of  men  whose  majesty  he  worships 
gathered  up  in  the  person  of  its  Eternal  Sovereign., 
Christ  Jesus.  Does  manhood  bring  new  dangers  to 
such  a  person?  What  are  they?  And  what  safe¬ 
guards  can  be  provided  against  them  ? 

The  most  formidable  temptation  of  manhood  is  that 
wdiich  Christ  described  in  a  phrase  hardly  translatable 
as  /uEQLfiPul  ftiwTixal.  To  boys  and  youths  work  is 
assigned  by  their  parents  or  tutors.  The  judicious 


THE  LAW  OF  EDIFICATION. 


239 


parent  takes  care  not  to  assign  so  much  work  as  to 
make  his  son  a  slave.  We  cherish  as  much  as  possible 
the  freedom,  the  discursiveness  of  thought  and  feeling 
natural  to  youth.  We  cherish  it  as  that  which  life  is 
likely  sooner  or  later  to  diminish,  and  if  we  curb  it, 
we  do  so  that  it  may  not  exhaust  itself  by  its  own 
vivacity.  But  in  manhood  work  is  not  assigned  to  us 
by  others  who  are  interested  in  our  welfare,  but  by  a 
ruthless  and  tyrannous  necessity  which  takes  small 
account  of  our  powers  or  our  happiness.  And  the 
source  of  the  happiness  of  manhood,  a  family,  doubles 
its  anxieties.  Hence  middle  life  tends  continually  to 
routine,  to  the  mechanic  tracing  of  a  contracted  circle. 
A  man  finds  or  fancies  that  the  care  of  his  own  family 
is  as  much  as  he  can  undertake,  and  excuses  himself 
from  most  of  his  duties  to  humanity.  In  many  cases, 
owing  to  the  natural  difficulty  of  obtaining  a  livelihood 
in  a  particular  country  or  to  remediable  social  abuses, 
such  a  man’s  conduct  is  justified  by  necessity,  but  in 
many  more  it  arises  from  the  blindness  of  natural 
affection,  making  it  difficult  for  him  to  think  that  he 
has  done  enough  for  his  family  while  it  is  possible  for 
him  to  do  more.  Christ  bids  us  look  to  it  that  we  be 
not  weighed  down  by  these  worldly  cares,  which 
indeed  if  not  resisted  must  evidently  undo  all  that 
Christianity  has  done  and  throw  men  back  into  the 
clannish  condition  out  of  which  it  redeemed  them. 
How  many  a  man  who  at  twenty  was  full  of  zeal, 
high-minded  designs  and  plans  of  a  life  devoted  to 
humanity,  after  the  cares  of  middle  life  have  come 
upon  him  and  one  or  two  schemes  contrived  with  the 
inexperience  of  youth  have  failed,  retains  nothing  of 


240 


ECCE  HOMO. 


the  Enthusiasm  with  which  he  set  out  but  a  willing¬ 
ness  to  relieve  distress  whenever  it  crosses  his  path, 
and  perhaps  a  habit  of  devoting  an  annual  sum  of 
money  to  charitable  purposes  ! 

To  protect  the  lives  of  men  from  sinking  into  a 
routine  of  narrow-minded  drudgery,  the  Christian 
Church  has  introduced  the  invaluable  institution  of  the 
Sunday.  Following  the  example  of  the  old  Jewish 
Church,  it  proclaims  a  truce  once  in  seven  days  to  all 
personal  anxieties  and  degrading  thoughts  about  the 
means  of  subsistence  and  success  in  life,  and  bids  us 
meet  together  to  indulge  in  larger  thoughts,  to  give 
ourselves  time  to  taste  Heaven’s  bounty,  and  to  drink 
together  out  of  4  the  chalice  of  the  grapes  of  God.’  In 
countries  where  life  is  a  hard  struggle,  what  more 
precious,  more  priceless  public  benefit  can  be  imagined 
than  this  breathing-time,  this  recurring  armistice  be¬ 
tween  man  and  the  hostile  powers  that  beset  his  life, 
this  solemn  sabbatic  festival?  Connected  with  the 
Sunday  is  the  institution  of  preaching  or,  as  it  is 
called  in  the  New  Testament,  prophesying.  The 
power  of  impassioned  rhetoric  over  those  whose  occu¬ 
pations  do  not  leave  them  much  time  for  reading  is 
very  great,  and  when  the  preacher  speaks  out  of  the 
overflowing  of  a  genuine  Christian  enthusiasm,  his 
words  will  echo  in  the  memories  of  many  until  the 
Sunday  comes  round  again.  In  periods  when  the  pul¬ 
pits  of  a  country  are  occupied  by  the  foremost  men  of 
their  time  for  genius  and  wisdom  this  institution  may 
sway  and  form  the  whole  mind  of  a  nation. 

Besides  the  Sunday  and  the  institution  of  preaching 
there  exist  certain  societies  formed  to  war  against 


THE  LAW  OF  EDIFICATION.  241 

social,  political,  or  moral  evils  and  in  various  ways 
to  benefit  mankind,  by  interesting  himself  in  which 
the  grown  man  may  support  the  Christian  humanity 
within  him. 

The  /uigi/uvou  (htorr/.aL  are  an  overwhelming  host.  It 
seems  desirable  to  supply  as  many  and  as  potent  in¬ 
struments  as  possible  to  him  who  would  combat  them. 
Valuable  as  the  three  instruments  just  mentioned  are,  it 
may  be  urged  in  deduction  from  the  advantage  of  the 
Sunday  and  of  preaching  that  they  leave  him  passive ; 
that  if  they  free  him  for  a  time  from  his  persecutors 
and  revive  in  him  the  aspiration  after  a  higher  life, 
they  do  not  supply  him  with  the  activities  and  the 
interests  of  that  higher  life.  Societies  do  this,  but  for 
the  most  part  at  present  in  a  very  insufficient  way. 
They  do  require  from  their  members  an  effort  of  will, 
a  deed,  and  one  involving  self-denial ;  they  require  a 
subscription  of  money.  The  money  goes  to  furnish 
that  comparatively  small  proportion  of  the  members 
of  the  society  who  are  personally  grappling  with  the 
evil  to  remove  which  the  society  was  formed.  But 
from  the  majority  nothing  further  is  required  ;  all  per¬ 
sonal  service  in  the  cause  of  humanity  is  commuted 
for  a  money-payment.  So  customary  has  this  become 
that  the  word  charity  has  acquired  a  new  meaning;  a 
man’s  charity,  that  is,  his  love  for  his  fellow-creatures, 

commonly  estimated  in  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence. 
But  it  is  a  question  whether  this  commutation,  how¬ 
ever  customary,  is  altogether  legal  in  the  Christian 
Republic.  It  would  appear  that  St.  Paul  recognized 
a  broad  distinction  between  charity  and  money-dona¬ 
tions.  He  seems  to  have  thought  that  a  man  might 


242 


EC CE  HOMO. 


give  away  all  his  properly  and  yet  have  no  charity 
Perhaps  we  are  rather  to  compare  the  Christian  Re* 
public  with  those  famous  states  of  antiquity  which  in 
their  best  days  required  the  personal  service  of  every 
citizen  in  the  held,  and  only  accepted  a  money-equiva¬ 
lent  from  those  who  were  incapacitated  from  such 
service.  It  is  characteristic  of  the  Christian  State  that 
it  depends  for  its  very  existence  on  the  public  spirit  of 
its  citizens.  The  states  of  the  world  are  distinguished 
from  each  other  visibly  by  geographical  boundaries 
and  language.  But  the  Christian  Republic  scarcely 
exists  apart  from  the  Enthusiasm  which  animates  it ; 
if  that  dies  it  vanishes  like  a  fairy  city,  and  leaves  no 
trace  of  its  existence  but  empty  churches  and  luxuri¬ 
ous  sinecurists.  And. assuredly  he  who  remembers  his 
citizenship  in  it  only  by  the  taxes  he  pays  is  but  one 
step  removed  from  forgetting  it  altogether. 

If  then  the  Christian  Humanity  is  to  be  maintained 
at  the  point  of  enthusiasm  in  a  man  upon  whom  the 
cares  of  middle  life  have  come,  he  must  not  content 
himself  with  paying  others  to  do  Christian  work.  He 
must  contribute  of  his  gifts,  not  merely  of  his  money. 
He  must  be  a  soldier  in  the  campaign  against  evil, 
and  not  merely  pay  the  war-tax.  But  then  it  is  too 
much  to  expect  that  he  should  find  work  for  himself. 
Spenser  allegorizes  ill  when  he  represents  his  Red 
Cross  Knight  as  pricking  forth  alone  in  quest  of 
adventures.  At  least  this  sort  of  soldiering  is  long 
out  of  date.  In  civilized  war  men  are  marshalled  in 
companies  and  put  under  the  orders  of  a  superior 
officer.  To  drop  the  figure,  a  flourishing  Church 
requires  a  vast  and  complicated  organization,  which 


THE  LAW  OF  EDIFICATION 


243 


should  afford  a  place  for  every  one  who  is  ready  to 
work  in  the  service  of  humanity.  The  enthusiasm 
should  not  be  suffered  to  die  out  in  any  one  for  want 
of  the  occupation  best  calculated  to  keep  it  alive. 
Those  who  meet  within  the  church  walls  on  Sunday 
should  not  meet  as  strangers  who  find  themselves 
together  in  the  same  lecture-hall,  but  as  cooper ators 
in  a  public  work  the  object  of  which  all  understand 
and  to  his  own  department  of  which  each  man  habit¬ 
ually  applies  his  mind  and  contriving  power.  Thus 
meeting,  with  the  esprit  de  corps  strong  among  them, 
and  with  a  clear  perception  of  the  purpose  of  their 
union  and  their  meeting,  they  would  not  desire  that 
the  exhortation  of  the  preacher  should  be,  what  in  the 
nature  of  things  it  seldom  can  be,  eloquent.  It  might 
cease  then  to  be  either  a  despairing  and  overwrought 
appeal  to  feelings  which  grow  more  callous  the 
oftener  they  are  thus  excited  to  no  definite  purpose,  or 
a  childish  discussion  of  some  deep  point  in  morality 
or  divinity  better  left  to  philosophers.  It  might  then 
become  weighty  with  business,  and  impressive  as  an 
officer’s  address  to  his  troops  before  a  battle.  For  it 
would  be  addressed  by  a  soldier  to  soldiers  in  the 
presence  of  an  enemy  whose  character  they  understood 
and  in  the  war  with  whom  they  had  given  and  received 
telling  blows.  It  would  be  addressed  to  an  ardent  and 
hopeful  association  who  had  united  for  the  purpose  of 
contending  within  a  given  district  against  disease  and 
distress,  of  diminishing  by  every  contrivance  of  kindly 
sympathy  the  rudeness,  coarseness,  ignorance,  and 
imprudence  of  the  poor  and  the  heartlessness  and 
hardness  of  the  rich,  for  the  purpose  of  securing  to  all 


244 


ECCK  HOMO. 


that  moderate  happiness  which  gives  leisure  for  virtue, 
and  that  moderate  occupation  which  removes  the 
temptations  of  vice,  for  the  purpose  of  providing  a 
large  and  wise  education  for  the  young  ;  lastly,  for  the 
purpose  of  handing  on  the  tradition  of  Christ’s  life, 
death,  and  resurrection,  maintaining  the  Enthusiasm 
of  Humanity  in  all  the  baptized,  and  preseiving,  in 
opposition  to  all  temptations  to  superstition  or  fanati¬ 
cism,  the  filial  freedom  of  their  worship  of  God. 

Thus  far  have  we  carried  our  analysis  of  the  condi¬ 
tions  most  favorable  to  the  Christian  spirit  or  Spirit 
of  Humanity.  It  must  remain  incomplete.  To  finish 
it  would  lead  us  too  far  and  answer  no  purpose.  Our 
purpose  in  it  is  already  answered  if  it  has  shown  how 
much  is  involved  in  the  great  Law  of  Edification,  how 
many  duties  that  Law  includes,  and  how  large-minded 
and  comprehensive  in  his  studies  and  observations, 
how  free  from  the  fetters  of  tradition  or  Scripture, 
must  be  the  man  who  would  thoroughly  fulfil  it 


245 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  LAW  OF  MERCY. 

BUT  there  is  another  aspect  of  the  Law  of  Edifica¬ 
tion.  Hitherto  we  have  considered  it  as  impos¬ 
ing  upon  Christians  the  obligation  of  developing  the 
domestic  and  patriotic  virtue  which  is  natural  to  men 
into  that  Christian  Humanity  which  is  its  proper  com¬ 
pletion,  and  of  cherishing,  as  much  as  possible,  that 
natural  virtue  with  a  view  to  the  development  of  the 
Christian  Humanity,  and  of  cherishing  the  Christian 
Humanity  itself  when  developed.  But  it  continually 
happens  that  all  methods  fail  of  accomplishing  these 
results.  There  is  a  class  of  men  in  every  community 
in  whom  both  natural  and  Christian  humanity  is  at 
the  lowest  ebb.  These  will  not  only  do  nothing  for 
their  kind,  but  they  are  capable  of  committing  crimes 
against  society  and  against  those  nearest  to  them. 
Under  temptation  from  self-interest  they  actually  com¬ 
mit  such  crimes,  and  the  precedent  being  once  estab¬ 
lished,  they  for  the  most  part  fall  gradually  into  the 
condition  of  avowed  enemies  of  their  kind,  and  con¬ 
stitute  a  criminal  or  outcast  class,  which  is  not  meiely 
destitute  of  virtue  but  is,  as  it  were,  an  Evil  Church 
sustaining  its  evil  by  its  union  and  propagating  its 
anarchic  law  on  every  side.  In  exceptional  cases  men 
equally  devoid  of  virtue  are  restrained  by  prudence  or 


246 


ECCE  HOMO, 


timidity  or  fortunate  circumstances  from  committing 
grave  ciimes,  and  remain  in  the  midst  of  the  good 
undetected  or  tolerated  but  not  morally  better  than 
the  outcast  on  whom  all  turn  their  backs.  How  does 
Christianity  command  us  to  treat  bad  men?'  Let  us 
first  consider  whether  Christ  taught  anything  on  this 
special  point  by  precept  or  example,  and  secondly,  let 
us  consider  what  the  Spirit  of  Humanity  itself  teaches. 

He  made  a  great  difference  between  the  avowed 
and  recognized  criminal  and  the  criminal  whose  vices 
were  concealed  under  a  veil  of  sanctimonious  pro¬ 
fession.  The  latter  case,  however,  is  a  complicated 
one,  which  it  will  be  convenient  to  consider  apart. 
How  then  did  he  treat  the  recognized  criminal?  In 
Palestine  the  distinction  between  the  virtuous  and  the 
vicious  class  seems  to  have  been  much  more  marked 
than  in  other  countries  of  the  ancient  world,  and  as 
much  as  in  Christian  countries  at  the  present  day. 
We  read  of  1  the  publicans,’  the  tools  of  the  rapacious 
farmers-general,  and  of  4  the  sinners,’  among  whom 
are  included  the  prostitutes :  these  two  classes  of  peo¬ 
ple  were  under  the  ban  of  public  opinion,  and  those 
who  laid  claim  to  a  reputation  for  sanctity  avoided 
their  contact  as  a  pollution.  This  social  excommuni¬ 
cation  may  of  course  in  certain  special  cases  have  been 
unjust,  but  that  it  was  on  the  whole  deserved  by  those 
who  suffered  it  Christ  did  not  call  in  question.  Now 
Oefore  we  inquire  how  he  treated  these  outcasts,  let  us 
consider  how,  from  the  knowledge  of  his  doctrine  and 
character  which  we  have  now  acquired,  we  should 
expect  him  to  treat  them. 

In  the  course  of  oui  investigation  we  have  seen 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY. 


247 


Cimst  tightening  in  an  incredible  degree  all  obliga¬ 
tions  of  morality.  He  rejects  as  utterly  insufficient 
what  had  been  considered  by  the  Jews  as  the  highest 
moral  attainment.  It  is  in  vain,  he  says,  to  refrain 
from  injuring  your  neighbor,  if,  notwithstanding,  you 
have  the  wish  and  impulse  to  injure  him  ;  a  movement 
of  hatred  is,  according  to  him,  morally  equivalent  to  a 
murder.  And  even  if  you  have  no  such  immoral  im¬ 
pulses,  yet  11'  your  disposition  towards  your  fellow- 
creatures  be  purely  negative,  if  you  are  not  actuated 
by  an  ardent,  by  an  enthusiastic  love  and  benevolence 
towards  all  mankind,  you  are  morally  good  for  noth¬ 
ing,  tasteless  salt  not  good  even  for  the  dunghill.  He 
thus  raises  the  standard  of  morality  to  the  highest 
possible  point.  But  further,  he  insists  far  more  vehe¬ 
mently  than  previous  moralists  had  done  upon  the 
absolute  necessity  of  attaining  the  standard.  He  does 
not  say,  This  is  morality,  but,  as  it  is  difficult  to  be 
moral,  God  will  forgive  your  shortcomings.  On  the 
contrary  he  says,  To  be  moral  in  this  high  sense  is 
life  and  peace,  not  to  be  so  is  death  and  eternal 
damnation.  In  his  eyes  a  man’s  moral  character  was 
everything.  He  went  through  life  looking  upon  men 
with  the  eyes  of  a  King  or  Judge,  confounding  false 
estimates  of  human  merit,  separating  the  sheep  from 
the  goats,  disregarding  all  other  distinctions  that  can 
exist  between  men  as  unimportant  in  comparison  with 
the  radical  distinction  between  the  good  and  the  bad. 
How  then  would  such  a  moralist  act  when  he  found 
among  his  countrymen  this  distinction  already  drawn 
and  firmly  marked  in  practice  ?  If  it  was  incorrectly 
drawn,  he  might  rectify  it ;  he  might  also  point  oul 


248 


ECCE  IIOMO. 


that  it  must  needs  be  inadequate  as  not  distinguishing 
immoral  persons  simply  from  moral,  but  only  those 
whose  immorality  had  ripened  into  criminal  actions, 
and  whose  crimes  had  been  detected,  from  those  who 
could  not  be  proved  immoral.  These  important  reser¬ 
vations  lie  would  undoubtedly  make,  but  having  done 
so,  would  he  not  be  likely  to  stamp  the  distinction 
with  his  approval  and  make  it  ten  times  more  strin¬ 
gent  ? 

Another  train  of  reflection  leads  to  the  same  conclu¬ 
sion.  One  who  loves  his  kind  is  likely  to  regard  in¬ 
juries  done  to  human  beings  with  greater  indignation 
than  one  who  does  not.  If  the  Jews,  under  the  do¬ 
minion  of  formularies  and  a  somewhat  outworn  legis¬ 
lation,  had  arrived  at  so  much  energy  of  moral  re¬ 
sentment  as  to  reject  from  their  society  and  personal 
contact  those  who  had  perpetrated  such  injuries,  was 
it  not  to  be  expected  that  Christ  and  his  followers,  in 
whom  humanity  was  an  enthusiasm,  would  regard 
with  tenfold  indignation  the  plunderers  of  the  poor, 
and  the  tempters  who  waylaid  the  chastity  of  men  ? 

The  fact,  however,  is,  that  Christ,  instead  of  sanc¬ 
tioning  the  excommunication  of  the  publican  and  sin¬ 
ner,  openly  associated  with  them.  He  chose  a  publi¬ 
can  to  be  among  the  number  of  his  Apostles,  and 
earned  for  himself  from  his  ill-wishers  the  invidious 
epithet  of  the  1  Friend  of  publicans  and  sinners.’  Not, 
indeed,  that  his  intercourse  with  them  could  possibly 
be  mistaken  for  a  connivance  at  their  immoral  courses. 
We  may  be  very  sure  that  he  carried  his  own  com¬ 
manding  personality  into  these  degraded  societies,  and 
that  the  conversations  he  held  in  them  were  upon  the 


T11K  LAW  OF  MERCY. 


249 

copies  he  chose,  not  the  topics  most  usual  or  most  wel¬ 
come  there.  He  himself  asserts  this  in  justifying'  his 
novel  course  —  4 1  am  not  come  to  call  the  righteous, 
but  sinners  to  repentance 4  They  that  are  whole 
need  not  a  physician,  but  they  that  are  sick  ;  ’ — words 
implying  that  he  appeared  among  the  outcasts  as  a 
missionary  or  physician  of  the  soul.  If  it  had  been 
otherwise  his  conduct  would  indeed  have  been  inex¬ 
plicable,  but  even  so  it  needs  explanation.  The  para¬ 
dox  lies  in  his  allowing  himself  to  feel  compassion  for 
criminals,  and  in  his  supposing  it  possible  that  their 
crimes  could  be  forgiven.  Criminality  certainly  ap¬ 
peared  to  Christ  more  odious  and  detestable  than  it 
appeared  to  his  contemporaries.  How  strange  then 
to  find  him  treating  it  more  leniently  !  Those,  it  ap¬ 
pears,  whose  moral  sense  was  moderately  strong,  who 
hated  vice  moderately,  yet  punished  it  so  severely  that 
they  utterly  excluded  those  who  were  deeply  infected 
with  it  from  their  society  and  their  sympathy  ;  he  who 
hated  it  infinitely  was,  at  the  same  time,  the  first  to 
regard  it  as  venial,  to  relent  towards  it,  to  parley  and 
make  terms  with  it.  He  who  thought  most  seriously 
of  the  disease  held  it  to  be  curable,  while  those  who 
thought  less  seriously  of  it  pronounced  it  incurable. 
Those  who  loved  their  race  a  little  made  war  to  the 
knife  against  its  enemies  and  oppressors ;  he  who 
loved  it  so  much  as  to  die  for  it,  made  overtures  of 
peace  to  them.  The  half-just  judge  punished  the  con* 
victed  criminal ;  the  thoroughly-just  judge  offered  him 
forgiveness.  Perfect  justice  here  appears  to  take  the 
v  ery  course  which  would  be  taken  by  injustice. 

It  is  true  that  the  two  extremes  do  in  a  mannei 


25° 


ECCE  HOMO. 


meet.  Christ,  representing  the  highest  humanity,  treats 
crime  in  a  manner  which  superficially  resembles  the 
treatment  of  it  by  those  in  whom  humanity  is  at  the 
lowest  stage.  He  tolerates  it  in  a  certain  sense,  as  it 
was  lolerated  before  the  institution  of  law.  But  the 
other  toleration  was  barbarous,  Christ’s  toleration  is 
the  newly-revealed  virtue  of  Mercy. 

In  explaining  this  we  must  once  more  lecur  to  the 
fundamental  principle  that  Christianity  is  natural  fel¬ 
low-feeling,  or  humanity  raised  to  the  point  of  enthu¬ 
siasm.  Now,  it  will  be  found  that  where  this  fellow- 
feeling  is  dormant,  vice  is  regarded  with  simple  indif¬ 
ference,  where  it  is  partially  developed,  with  the  anger 
of  justice,  but  where  it  is  developed  completely,  not 
with  fiercer  anger,  but  with  Mercy,  i.  e.  pity  and  dis¬ 
approbation  mixed. 

Let  us  imagine  a  person  devoid  of  sympathy,  a  per¬ 
son  to  whom  the  welfare  of  his  fellow-creatures  is  a 
matter  of  complete  indifference.  On  him  a  wrong  ac¬ 
tion  will  make  no  more  impression  than  a  right  one, 
so  long  as  he  is  himself  affected  by  neither.  He  will 
feel  neither  the  indignation  of  justice,  nor  the  mixed 
indignation  and  compassion  of  mercy.  Next  let  us 
imagine  a  person  of  limited  sympathy.  The  limita¬ 
tions  of  sympathy  may  be  of  two  kinds.  The  person 
we  imagine  may  sympathize  only  with  certain  people, 
as  for  example  his  relations,  or  he  may  sympathize 
with  only  moderate  ardor.  Such  a  person  will  feel 
dissatisfaction  when  wrong  is  committed  (this  is  the 
instinct  of  justice)  in  the  latter  case  always,  in  the 
former  case  when  the  person  wronged  is  of  those  to 
whom  his  sympathy  extends.  But  he  will  not  feel 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY. 


251 


pity  for  the  criminal  mixed  with  his  indignation 
(which  is  mercy)  in  the  latter  case,  because  his 
moderate  sympathy  will  be  neutralized  by  his  indig¬ 
nation,  in  the  former  case,  because  he  will  not  perceive 
the  criminality.  But  suppose  a  person  whose  sym¬ 
pathy  is  unlimited,  that  is,  one  who  sympathizes 
intensely  and  with  all  persons  alike :  he  will  feel  at 
the  same  time  indignation  at  a  crime,  and  pity  for  the 
degradation  and  immoral  condition  of  the  criminal ; 
in  other  words,  he  will  have  mercy  as  well  as  justice. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  the  word  jtistice  is  here  used 
in  the  sense  of  resentment  against  a  criminal,  mercy 
in  the  sense  of  mixed  pity  and  resentment.  Now  it 
may  in  some  cases  be  a  man’s  duty  to  punish,  and  in 
other  cases  to  pardon,  but  it  is  in  all  cases  a  man’s 
duty  to  be  merciful  to  a  criminal,  that  is,  to  mix  pity 
for  him  with  the  resentment  inspired  by  his  deed  ;  and, 
the  words  being  used  in  this  sense,  it  may  be  asserted 
that  mercy  is  not  in  any  way  inconsistent  with  justice, 
but  only  the  riper  form  of  it ;  in  other  wrords,  the  form 
which  justice  assumes  when  the  instinct  which  is  the 
source  of  justice  is  exceptionally  powerful.  Now,  of 
the  ancients,  for  the  most  part,  it  may  be  said  that 
they  had  not  enough  justice  to  have  any  mercy.  Their 
feelings  with  respect  to  wrong-doing  were  almost 
always  either  those  of  the  perfectly  unsympathetic 
man  or  of  the  partially  sympathetic  man.  They  re¬ 
garded  the  criminal  either  with  indifference  or  with 
unmixed  indignation.  In  Christ’s  treatment  of  the 
publicans  and  sinners  wre  have  that  ripest  humanity, 
that  fully  developed  justice,  which  we  call  by  the 
name  of  mercy,  and  which  combines  the  utmost 


252 


ECCE  HOMO. 


sympathy  with  the  injured  party  and  the  utmost  sym' 
pathy  for  the  offender. 

It  may  be  well  to  pause  a  moment  on  the  three 
stages  in  the  history  of  the  treatment  of  crime :  the 
stage  of  barbarous  insensibility,  the  stage  of  law  or 
justice,  and  that  of  mercy  or  humanity. 

We  have  in  the  Iliad  an  interesting  record  of  the 
stage  ol  insensibility.  In  that  poem  the  distinction 
betweer  right  and  wrong  is  barely  recognized,  and 
the  division  of  mankind  into  the  good  and  the  bad  is 
not  recognized  at  all.  It  has  often  been  remarked  that 
it  contains  no  villain.  The  reason  of  this  is  not  that 
the  poet  does  not  represent  his  characters  as  doing 
wicked  deeds,  for,  in  fact,  there  is  not  one  among 
them  who  is  not  capable  of  deeds  the  most  atrocious 
and  shameful.  But  the  poet  does  not  regard  these 
deeds  with  any  strong  disapprobation,  and  the  feeling 
of  moral  indignation  which  has  been  so  strong  in 
later  poets  was  in  him  so  feeble  that  he  is  quite 
incapable  of  hating  any  of  his  characters  for  their 
crimes.  He  can  no  more  conceive  the  notion  of  a 
villain  than  of  an  habitually  virtuous  man.  The  few 
deeds  that  he  recognizes  as  wrong,  or  at  least  as 
strange  and  dangerous,  —  killing  a  suppliant,*  or 
killing  a  father,  f  —  he,  notwithstanding,  conceives  all 

*  S/xwas  <5’  (KKakfaas  Z.ovaat  keXet’ ,  dpcpi  r'  oZeTi pat, 
v6a<piv  at ipaoas,  cij  nr)  iSoi  viov  * 

firi  b  pZv  ^XVXj^vV  KPa^Jl  \bZ.°v  °^K  tpvoaiTOy 
iraiSa  ISuiv ,  *A d*  dpivdtirj  pt/.ov  rjrop, 
rat  i  KauiKTeivaf ,  Aids  aXiTyrat  ZpET/jias. —  xxiv.  582.3 

+  rbv  (iZv  Zyto  fiovAcvcra  KaraKranev  d£ti  ^a?.Ku>* 
dAAd  rii  aOavirwv  ttblvoev  ^dXov,  Zvi  Ov/Jity 
Sri/Aov  dr)KE  (par tv  rat  dvEtbea  n 62. A.’  dvdpuintuv, 

<if  pr)  TTarpo<p6vos  n(r'  ’A ^ar^totv  raXtolnyv. —  ix.  4o8.J 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY. 


253 


persons  alike  as  capable  of  perpetrating  under  the  in¬ 
fluence  of  passion  or  some  heaven-sent  bewilderment 
of  the  understanding:. 

But  there  comes  a  time,  probably  coincident  with 
the  first  consolidation  of  ancestral  custom  or  usage 
into  written  law,  when  a  sense  of  justice  begins  to 
diffuse  itself  through  the  community.  By  the  law 
comes  the  knowledge  of  sin.  A  standard  of  action  is 
set  up,  which  serves  to  each  man  both  as  a  rule  of  life 
for  himself  and  a  rule  of  criticism  upon  his  neighbors. 
Then  comes  the  division  of  mankind  into  those  who 
habitually  conform  to  this  rule  and  those  who  violate 
it,  into  the  good  and  the  bad,  and  feelings  soon  spring 
up  to  sanction  the  classification,  feelings  of  respect  for 
the  one  class  and  hatred  for  the  other.  This  new 
hatred  of  criminals  spreads  slowly,  and  is  only  perhaps 
keenly  felt  when  the  crime  is  very  heinous.  But  it  is 
unmixed.  In  this  second  stage  a  criminal  may  be 
regarded  with  indifference  as  in  the  first,  but  if  he  is 
not  so  regarded  then  he  is  simply  hated.  It  cannot  be 
necessary  to  produce  examples  of  this  pitiless  hatred 
from  classical  antiquity ;  in  the  Hebrew  Psalms, 
which  are  morally  so  much  in  advance  of  even  much 
later  Gentile  writings,  it  is  sufficiently  apparent. 
4  The  man  that  privily  slandereth  his  neighbor,’  says 
David,  4  him  will  I  destroy ;  ’  and  he  expresses  a  hope 
of  4  soon  destroying  all  that  are  ungodly  in  the  land.’ 
That  he  does  not  regard  this  work  of  vengeance  as  a 
painful  necessity  imposed  on  him  by  his  royal  office  is 
plain  from  other  expressions,  e.  g.  4  the  righteous  shall 
rejoice  when  he  seeth  the  vengeance,  he  shall  wash 
his  footsteps  in  the  blood  of  the  ungodly.’ 


354 


ECCE  HOMO. 


We  may  be  sure,  however,  that  there  was  one 
tolerably  numerous  class  of  exceptions  to  this  unmixed 
hatred.  Natural  affection,  it  has  already  been  re¬ 
marked,  was  always  Christian.  We  may  be  sure  that 
in  the  homes  of  antiquity  there  were  disobedien1-  sons, 
to  whom  the  father,  urged  by  the  strong  instinct 
of  nature,  was  sometimes  merciful  as  well  as  just. 
Hebrew  antiquity  presents  us  with  some  pathetic 
instances  of  forgiveness  between  brothers,  and  the 
prophets  are  full  of  the  tenderest  expressions  of  the 
mercy  of  Jehovah  towards  his  disobedient  children. 
It  is  true  that  here,  in  accordance  with  the  concep¬ 
tions  of  archaic  society,  it  is  to  the  state  rather  than 
the  individual  members  of  it  that  pardon  is  offered. 
But  doubtless  the  prophets,  who  presented  so  noble 
an  image  of  the  Invisible  Father,  had  found  in  the 
hearts  of  earthly  fathers  the  mercy  they  attributed  to 
Him,  and  accordingly  it  was  by  family  relations  that 
Christ  taught  his  disciples  and  they  taught  themselves 
to  understand  the  law  of  mercy.  1  How  often  shall 
my  brother  offend  against  me  and  I  forgive  him,  until 
seven  times  ?  ’  4 1  will  arise  and  go  to  my  Father ,  and 
will  say  unto  him,  Father ,  I  have  sinned.’ 

While  the  Gentile  nations  in  their  feelings  towards 
vice  oscillated  between  the  stage  of  insensibility  and 
the  stage  of  hatred,  the  Jews,  who  in  all  such  matters 
were  more  mature,  were  for  the  most  part  in  the  stage 
of  hatred.  Among  them  the  division  between  the 
virtuous  and  the  vicious  was  most  decidedly  drawn, 
and  the  enmity  between  the  two  parties  most  irrecon¬ 
cilable.  Let  us  now  consider  how  such  a  division 
must  work.  In  the  first  place,  it  plainly  affords  a 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY. 


255 


valuable  encouragement  to  virtuous  dispositions.  It 
separates  the  wheat  from  the  chaff,  it  throws  the  good 
into  the  society  of  the  good  and  saves  them  from  de¬ 
moralizing  example  and  contagion,  and,  far  more  than 
all,  through  this  division  there  arises  that  which  is  to 
virtue  what  air  is  to  life,  a  tone  or  fashion  of  goodness. 
But  the  bad  consequences  it  produces  are  scarcely  of 
less  magnitude  than  the  good  ones.  These  bad  conse¬ 
quences  are  manifold,  but  the  most  serious  is  the  effect 
of  the  system  upon  the-  criminal  himself.  The  law 
which  condemns  sin  binds  in  a  most  fatal  manner  the 
sin  to  the  sinner.  It  exulcerates  the  sore  and  makes 
the  disease  chronic.  In  the  stage  of  insensibility, 
men,  easily  tempted  into  crime,  flung  off  the  effects  of 
it  as  easily.  Agamemnon,  after  violating  outrageously 
the  rights  of  property,  has  but  to  say  htxu&ft j/r,  4  My 
mind  was  bewildered,’  and  the  excuse  is  sufficient  to 
appease  his  own  conscience,  and  is  accepted  by  the 
public  and  even  by  the  injured  party  himself,  who  feels 
himself  equally  liable  to  such  temporary  mental  per¬ 
plexities.  When  such  a  view  of  sin  prevailed  no  high 
virtue  was  possible,  but  at  the  same  time  that  moral 
degradation  was  equally  unknown  which  follows  the 
loss  of  self-respect.  After  the  introduction  of  law 
crime  could  never  again  be  thus  lightly  expiated  and 
forgotten.  By  solemn  trial  and  public  punishment 
the  criminal  was*  made  conspicuously  visible  to  his 
fellow-citizens,  he  was  held  up  to  their  criticism,  and 
it  became  part  of  their  duty  and  of  their  education  to 
hate  him.  For  them  this  was  beneficial ;  but  how  did 
it  operate  oi  the  criminal  himself?  When  the  law 
was  satisfied  and  the  punishment  inflicted,  could  he 


256 


ECCE  HOMO. 


return  to  his  former  estimation  and  rank  in  the  com¬ 
munity  ?  Not  so ;  beyond  the  legal  punishment 
another  was  inflicted  of  endless  duration  and  fatal 
severity.  He  might  be  condemned  to  fine  or  impris¬ 
onment  or  exile,  but  in  all  cases  he  incurred  another 
sentence,  in  all  cases  he  was  condemned  to  a  place 
among  the  bad,  to  excommunication  from  the  society 
and  league  of  the  virtuous.  A  fatal  prejudice  rested 
upon  him  for  the  future,  a  clinging  suspicion  oppressed 
him  ;  crime  was  expected  of  him  ;  his  virtuous  acts 
required  explanation ;  his  endeavor  after  virtue  was 
distrusted  by  the  good  or  passed  unobserved  by  them ; 
he  lived  among  the  bad,  the  bad  were  now  the  censors 
of  his  behavior,  to  their  standard  it  was  most  expedi¬ 
ent  for  him  to  conform.  And  as  a  man’s  opinions  are 
commonly  those  of  the  society  in  which  he  lives,  the 
criminal  accepted  in  most  cases  the  ignominy  as  just, 
believed  himself  to  be  incapable  of  virtue,  to  be  made 
for  crime,  and  resolved  at  last  to  give  the  reins  to  his 
nature.  By  this  process  the  momentary  lapse,  the 
human  infirmity,  from  which  the  best  have  no  ex¬ 
emption,  under  the  dreadful  hands  of  law  was  con¬ 
verted  into  an  abiding  curse.  It  was,  as  it  were, 
bound  to  the  sinner  and  became  a  millstone  dragging 
him  down  to  perdition.  Justly  have  great  authors 
described  sin,  deriving  its  strength  from  law,  as  a  bur¬ 
den  laid  upon  the  back,  or,  still  more  graphically,  as 
a  dead  body  tied  to  a  living  one. 

And  when  the  criminal  is  the  father  of  children  the 
curse  descends  even  upon  those  who  are  wholly  inno¬ 
cent.  Before  they  are  old  enough  to  distinguish  right 
and  wrong  they  are,  as  it  were,  received  into  the  Evil 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY. 


257 


Church  by  infant  baptism,  their  parents  or  their 
parents’  friends  standing  sponsors  and  promising  for 
them  that  which  when  they  come  to  age  they  take 
upon  themselves  but  too  willingly.  Cut  off  from  all 
contact  with  virtue,  instructed  in  vice,  which  is  itself 
an  easy  art,  and  strangers  to  goodness,  which  is  diffi¬ 
cult  to  learn,  they  enter  into  perdition  by  a  natural 
title,  and  the  same  law,  which  favors  so  much,  as  it 
were,  the  formation  of  large  properties  in  vice,  pro¬ 
vides  also  that  they  shall  pass  by  inheritance. 

The  sole  reign  of  Law,  then,  is  a  despotism,  benefi¬ 
cent  and  necessary  at  a  certain  stage  of  social  develop¬ 
ment,  but  yet  terrible,  and,  if  maintained  too  long, 
mischievous.  It  is  a  preparatory  discipline  destined 
to  fit  the  pupil  for  another  teacher,  a  proper  condition 
for  the  childhood  of  society,  but  not  well  adapted  for 
its  maturity.  It  accomplishes  a  great  work  in  elevat¬ 
ing  men  out  of  the  savage  levity  of  primitive  manners, 
in  delivering  them  from  passions  which  by  indulgence 
had  grown  to  resemble  insanity,  from  the  fierceness  of 
appetite  and  anger.  It  brings  out  the  instinct  of  sym¬ 
pathy,  it  develops  the  power  man  possesses  of  identi¬ 
fying  himself  with  his  neighbor,  and  teaches  a  whole 
community  to  interest  itself  in  redressing  the  wrong 
done  to  one  of  its  members.  As  has  been  already  re¬ 
marked,  it  is  in  its  nature  tender  and  not  cruel,  for  it 
protects  the  weak  who  before  were  helpless  and  arms 
itself  to  avenge  the  injured.  Though  Law  inflicts 
punishment,  yet  it  exists  to  reduce  the  whole  amount 
of  suffering,  and  though  when  ive  personify  it  we  call 
it  stern  and  relentless,  yet,  compared  with  lawlessness, 
it  is  soft-hearted.  But  there  comes  a  time  when  man* 


258 


ECCE  HOMO. 


kind  have  learned  all  the  lessons  which  Law  has  to 
teach  and  begin  to  leave  their  instructor  behind  them. 
For  Law  is  an  esftrit  borne ,  and  does  not  perceive  the 
legitimate  consequences  of  his  own  principle.  Sym¬ 
pathy,  the  instinct  by  which  men  identify  themselves 
with  their  fellow-creatures,  should  not  be  partial  or 
limited  in  its  activity.  Law  teaches  us  to  put  our¬ 
selves  in  the  place  of  those  who  are  injured,  but  does 
not  teach  us,  nay,  he  forbids  us,  to  put  ourselves  in 
the  place  of  those  who  commit  injuries.  And  those 
who  have  learnt  his  lesson  best,  and  in  whom  the 
power  of  sympathy  is  most  highly  trained,  will  be 
most  discontented  with  his  rule,  and  as  to  the  lawless 
he  was  a  preacher  of  pity,  to  these  he  will  justly  ap¬ 
pear  cruel.  Such  persons  are  ripe  for  that  higher 
doctrine  which  Christ  teaches. 

Christ,  representing  all  who  are  possessed  by  the 
Enthusiasm  of  Humanity,  does  not  regard  crime  with 
less  anger,  is  not  less  anxious  for  the  punishment  of  it, 
than  the  legalists.  But  when  it  is  punished,  when  the 
claims  of  the  injured  party  are  satisfied,  he  does  not 
dismiss  the  matter  from  his  thoughts.  He  considers 
that  the  criminal  also  has  claims  upon  him,  claims  so 
strong  that  they  are  not  forfeited  by  any  atrocity  of 
crime.  Nay,  they  are  rather  strengthened  by  his 
criminality,  as  they  would  be  by  misery,  for  the  hu¬ 
mane  man,  who  finds  his  own  happiness  in  his 
humanity,  does  sincerely  consider  the  criminal  to  be 
miserable.  This  doctrine  that  vice  is  essentially 
pitiable  was  advanced  sometimes  in  antiquity,  but 
plain  men  flouted  it  from  them  with  irritation  as  one 
of  those  childish  paradoxes  with  which  philosophers 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY. 


259 


amused  and  abused  their  leisure,  and  some  of  the 
philosophers  themselves  showed  that  they  only  half 
believed  it  by  the  self-complacency  and  affected  pre¬ 
ciseness  with  which  they  demonstrated  it.  Neverthe¬ 
less  he  in  whom  humanity  is  an  enthusiasm  does 
honestly  feel  distressed  when  he  thinks  of  those  who 
are  fallen  and  lost  in  character  and  whom  society  re¬ 
pudiates.  Even  when  wickedness  is  prosperous  and 
flourishes  like  a  green  bay  tree,  he  understands  pretty 
well  and  unaffectedly  pities  the  uneasiness  of  remorse, 
the  loneliness  of  pride,  the  moral  paralysis  that  suc¬ 
ceeds  satiety,  the  essential  poverty  of  vulgarity.  Nor 
does  he  only  feel  such  pity,  but  he  has  the  courage  to 
indulge  it.  The  legalist,  if  he  is  at  any  time  surprised 
into  a  similar  feeling  for  an  unfortunate  criminal,  sup¬ 
presses  it  as  dangerous  and  weak.  The  anger  which 
he  feels,  the  punishment  which  he  executes  or  ap¬ 
proves,  is  his  guarantee  against  falling  back  into  insen¬ 
sibility.  His  disapprobation  of  wrong-doing,  being 
not  very  strong,  requires  to  be  anxiously  cherished  lest 
it  should  die  in  him  altogether.  Any  relentings  of 
pity  would  be  dangerous  to  it ;  he  has  not  sympathy 
enough  for  both  the  injured  party  and  the  criminal ; 
at  least  any  that  he  might  give  to  the  latter  must  be 
taken  from  the  former.  Therefore  in  communities 
which  are  in  the  legal  stage,  mercy  is  always  identi¬ 
fied  with  laxity  ;  the  stage  before  them  is  mistaken  for 
the  stage  behind  them;  and  any  tenderness  towards 
criminals — farum  od/'sse  malos  cives — is  regarded 
as  a  portentous  omen  of  the  downfall  of  discipline  and 
of  public  ruin.  But  the  moment  that  sympathy  ceases 
to  be  this  invalid  thing,  needing  constant  artificial 


260 


ECCE  HOMO. 


stimulants,  the  moment  it  kindles  into  the  free  Enthu¬ 
siasm  of  Humanity,  it  gets  the  confidence  to  follow  its 
own  impulses.  It  perceives  the  truth  of  what  has  been 
explained  above,  that  mercy  is  no  relaxation  of  justice, 
but  justice  itself  in  a  riper  stage  *  it  is  not  afraid  that 
if  it  pities  criminals  it  shall  have  no  compassion  left  to 
bestow  on  the  innocent  sufferers  from  criminality.  On 
the  contrary,  it  is  confident  that  if  it  can  pity  those  with 
whom  it  is  angry  and  at  the  very  moment  when  it  is 
most  angry,  and  even  at  the  very  moment  when  it  is 
inflicting  the  punishment  suggested  by  a  just  anger,  it 
will  be  able  a  fortiori  to  pity  and  sympathize  with 
those  who  are  suffering  from  no  fault  of  their  own. 

Therefore  it  is  that  Christ  went  boldly  among  the 
publicans  and  sinners.  Virtue,  he  considered,  was  not 
now  so  feebly  supported  that  its  soldiers  must  needs  re¬ 
main  forever  within  their  intrenched  camp.  This  had 
been  necessary  at  an  earlier  stage  of  the  war.  A  close 
and  exclusive  league  of  the  virtuous  had  been  neces¬ 
sary  at  an  earlier  time,  that  they  might  not  forget  their 
principles  or  be  overwhelmed  by  numbers.  But  good¬ 
ness  had  now  become  ten  times  more  powerful  in  be-’ 
coming  an  enthusiasm.  It  no  longer  contents  itself 
with  barely  preserving  its  existence  in  the  presence  of 
prevailing  vice.  It  turns  against  its  enemy  ;  it  under¬ 
takes  to  take  the  hostile  army  prisoner.  The  children 
of  Israel  turn  and  pursue  the  Egyptians  through  the 
Red  vSea.  Under  the  command  of  Christ  Jerusalem 
lays  siege  to  Babylon.  He  announced  a  great  mundane 
project  of  regeneration.  He  will  not  consent  to  lose 
those  who  have  apostatized  from  virtue.  He  will  not 
rest  content  with  raising  goodness  to  a  higher  standard 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY. 


26l 

in  those  who  are  good  already,  nor  with  making  it 
easier  for  others  to  be  good  in  future.  He  will  go  in 
search  of  those  who  have  already  fallen ;  no  matter 
how  deep  their  degradation,  he  will  not  willingly  lose 
one.  Besides  the  title  of  King,  or  Son  of  Man,  he  as¬ 
sumes  that  of  Savior  or  Redeemer,  and  in  this  work 
he  seems  to  have  his  heart  even  more  than  in  the 
other.  The  shepherd,  he  says,  leaves  without  hesita¬ 
tion  the  ninety-nine  sheep  to  seek  the  hundredth  that 
is  lost.  A  woman  that  has  lost  a  single  piece  of  money 
will  sweep  the  whole  house  and  search  diligently  till 
she  find  it.  And  what  pleasure  when  such  a  search  is 
successful !  In  heaven  among  God’s  angels,  there  is 
more  joy  over  one  sinner  that  returns  than  over  ninety 
and  nine  that  never  wandered. 


262 


CHAPTER  XX 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY  —  continued. 


HR]  ST  then  undertakes  the  conversion  of  sinners. 


'  Of  his  success  in  this  enterprise  our  biographies, 
paiticularly  that  of  St.  Luke,  contain  many  examples. 
Christianity,  by  giving  men  a  greater  interest  in  each 
other  than  they  had  before,  and  by  weakening  the  in¬ 
fluence  of  artificial  distinctions,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
by  its  intense  seriousness,  gave  those  who  were  influ¬ 
enced  by  it  a  keen  eye  for  character  and  an  insight  into 
human  nature  such  as  is  very  rarely  found  in  antiquity. 
The  stories  of  conversion  recorded  in  the  Gospels  have 
a  liveliness  and  truth  which  every  one  can  in  some 
measure  feel,  but  which  are  felt  ten  times  as  strongly 
by  those  who  know  and  consider  how  perfectly  new 
to  literature  such  sketches  were  when  they  appeared. 
It  was  by  them  that  the  depth  and  complexity  and 
mystery  of  the  human  heart  were  first  brought  to  light, 
and  their  appearance  involved  a  revolution  in  litera¬ 
ture,  the  results  of  which  are  to  be  traced  not  so  much 
in  the  writers  of  the  long  barbaric  period  which  fol¬ 
lowed  their  diffusion  as  in  Dante  and  Shakspeare.  Of 
these  stories  we  will  find  room  here  for  two,  the  one 
containing  the  repentance  of  a  man,  the  other  of  a 
woman. 

Zacchteus  held  a  high  office  under  the  farmers-gen- 


THK  LAW  OF  MERCY. 


263 


eral,  and  had  become  rich.  His  wealth,  however,  had 
not  availed  to  relax  the  social  excommunication  under 
which,  with  all  his  fraternity,  he  lay.  Either  the  Jews 
of  that  time  were  less  dazzled  by  wealth  than  the  Gen¬ 
tiles  of  the  present,  or  they  reflected  with  indignation 
that  the  riches  he  had  amassed  had  been  plundered 
from  themselves.  By  some  means  he  had  heard  of 
Christ,  and  conceived  an  intense  curiosity  to  see  him. 
That  it  was  no  vulgar  curiosity,  but  that  overpowering 
attraction  towards  greatness  and  goodness — that  faith , 
which  is  the  germ  of  all  that  is  good  in  human  charac¬ 
ter —  maybe  gathered  from  the  sequel  of  the  story. 
He  may  have  heard  it  reported  that  Christ  did  not, 
like  other  religious  men,  disdain  the  company  of  pub¬ 
licans,  and  that  he  had  condescended  to  be  entertained 
at  their  houses.  He  was  rich ;  he  also  was  able,  if 
only  such  an  honor  could  be  granted  him,  to  entertain 
Christ.  It  is  for  this  that  riches  are  enviable,  that 
while  the  poor  must  be  content  with  glimpses  of  the 
hero  or  the  saint  as  he  passes  in  the  street,  the  rich  can 
bring  him  within  their  doors  and  contemplate  him  at 
their  leisure.  But  Zacchaeus  had  not  the  courage  to 
use  this  privilege  of  his  wealth.  His  conscience  was 
ill  at  ease,  the  stigma  of  his  infamous  occupation  had 
entered  into  his  heart.  He  was  afraid  to  show  his 
wealth  to  Christ,  lest  the  question  should  be  asked  him 
how  it  had  been  gained.  He  submitted  therefore  to 
look  on  among  the  poor,  and  to  be  satisfied  with  what 
he  could  see  as  the  procession  passed.  But  the  crowd 
was  dense,  and,  it  may  be,  found  a  pleasure  in  elbow¬ 
ing  aside  the  social  tyrant  who  had  thus  put  himself 
on  a  level  with  them.  He  was  short,  and  saw  himself 


ECCE  HOMO. 


264 

in  danger  of  losing  even  the  passing  glimpse  of  Christ’s 
countenance  with  which  he  had  resolved  to  be  content. 
Determined  to  secure  at  least  so  much,  he  ran  forward 
and  climbed  into  a  tree  which  overshadowed  the  road 
by  which  the  train  was  to  pass.  By  this  means  he 
saw  Christ,  and  not  only  so  but  Christ  saw  him.  Zac- 
chseus  was  not  one  of  the  most  pitiable  of  his  excom¬ 
municated  class.  He  might  be  hated,  but  he  was 
successful ;  he  was  one  of  those  who  might  say, 

‘  Popnius  me  sibilat ,  at  mihi  plaudo In  a  word,  he 
was  a  prosperous  plunderer,  living  in  abundance  * 
among  the  victims  of  his  rapacity.  But  Christ  was 
touched  by  the  enthusiasm  he  displayed,  and  may 
have  divined  and  understood  the  shame  which,  as  we 
have  conjectured,  caused  him  to  shrink  from  a  per¬ 
sonal  interview.  Such  enthusiasm  and  shame  seemed 
to  Christ  the  first  stirrings  of  humanity  in  the  publi¬ 
can’s  heart,  and  by  a  single  stroke  he  completed  the 
change  he  perceived  to  be  beginning,  and  ripened  a 
half-hopeless  yearning  into  a  settled  purpose  of  moral 
amendment.  Without  delay,  or  reserve,  or  conditions, 
or  rebuke,  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  publican.  Adopt¬ 
ing  the  royal  style  which  was  familiar  to  him,  and 
which  commends  the  loyalty  of  a  vassal  in  the  most 
delicate  manner  by  freely  exacting  his  services,  he 
informed  Zacchaeus  of  his  intention  to  visit  him,  and 
signified  his  pleasure  that  a  banquet  should  be  instantly 
prepared.  Such  generous  confidence  put  a  new  soul 
into  Zacchaeus ;  it  snapped  in  a  moment  the  spell  of 
wickedness  under  which  all  his  better  instincts  had  re¬ 
mained  in  dull  abeyance;  and  while  the  crowd  mur¬ 
mured  at  the  exceptional  honor  done  to  a  public  enemy, 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY. 


265 


Zacclueus  stood  forth,  and  solemnly  devoted  half  his 
property  to  the  poor,  and  vowed  fourfold  restoration 
to  all  whom  he  had  wronged. 

This  is  the  repentance  of  a  man.  Zacchaeus  shows 
no  remarkable  sensibility  ;  he  sheds  no  tears,  he  utters 
no  striking  reflections.  The  movement  in  his  mind  is 
strong,  but  not  in  the  least  peculiar  or  difficult  to  fol¬ 
low.  It  is  a  conflict  between  common  honesty  and 
the  instincts  of  the  thief,  a  conflict  in  which  the  former, 
fighting  at  great  odds,  gains  a  signal  victory.  Against 
all  the  might  of  inveterate  habit,  and  bad  society,  and 
a  crushing  public  prejudice,  this  man  makes  head,  and 
by  one  great  effort  forces  his  way  back  into  the  class 
of  good  citizens  and  honest  men.  And  this  great  but 
simple  achievement  he  gained  power  to  perform,  not 
through  reflection  and  reasoning,  not  through  the 
eloquence  of  a  preacher,  not  through  supernatural 
terrors,  but  through  the  cordial,  restoring  influence  of 
Mercy.  It  was  Mercy,  which  is  not  Pity  —  a  thing 
comparatively  weak  and  vulgar  —  but  Pity  and  Re¬ 
sentment  blended  at  the  highest  power  of  each,  the 
most  powerful  restorative  agent  known  in  the  medicine 
of  the  soul ;  it  was  Mercy  that  revealed  itself  in  Christ’s 
words,  the  Pity  slightly  veiled  under  royal  grace,  the 
Resentment  altogether  unexpressed  and  yet  not  con¬ 
cealed,  because  already  too  surely  divined  and  antici¬ 
pated  by  the  roused  conscience  of  the  criminal.  And 
Mercy,  more  powerful  than  Justice,  redeemed  the 
ciiminal  while  it  judged  him,  increased  his  shame 
tenfold,  but  increased  in  the  same  proportion  the  wish 
and  courage  to  amend. 

The  second  story  describes  the  repentance  of  a 
12 


266 


ECCE  HOMO. 


woman.  It  is  a  fragment.  A  woman  fallen  from 
virtue,  we  know  not  who,  entered  a  room  in  the  house 
of  a  Pharisee  who  was  entertaining  Christ.  We  know 
not  particularly  what  Christ  had  done  for  her,  but  we 
can  conclude  generally  that  he  had  roused  her  con- 
science  as  he  did  that  of  Zacchaeus,  that  he  had  restored 
her  to  virtue  by  giving  her  hope  and  by  inspiring  her 
with  an  enthusiastic  devotion  to  himself.  She  threw 
herself  down  before  him  and  embraced  his  feet,  weep¬ 
ing  so  abundantly  over  them  that  she  was  obliged  to 
wipe  them,  which  she  did  with  her  hair.  This  is  the 
picture  presented  to  us,  and  we  know  nothing  fur¬ 
ther  of  the  woman,  although  tradition  has  identified 
her  with  that  Mary  Magdalene,  of  whose  touching 
fidelity  to  Christ  in  the  last  scenes  of  his  life  so  much 
is  recorded.  But  fragmentary  as  the  story  is,  it  is 
all-importanfi  as  the  turning-point  in  the  history  of 
women.  Such  wisdom  is  there  in  humanity  that  he 
who  first  looked  upon  his  fellow-creatures  with  sym¬ 
pathetic  eyes  found  himself,  as  it  were,  in  another 
world  and  made  mighty  discoveries  at  every  step. 
The  female  sex,  in  which  antiquity  saw  nothing  but 
inferiority,  which  Plato  considered  intended  to  do  the 
same  things  as  the  male  only  not  so  well,  was  under¬ 
stood  for  the  first  time  by  Christ.  His  treatment 
brought  out  its  characteristics,  its  superiorities,  its 
peculiar  power  of  gratitude  and  self-devotion.  That 
woman  who  dried  with  her  hair  the  feet  she  had 
bathed  in  grateful  tears  has  raised  her  whole  sex  to  a 
higher  level.  But  we  are  concerned  with  her  not  merely 
as  a  woman,  but  as  a  fallen  woman.  And  it  is  when 
iYe  consider  her  as  such  that  the  prodigious  force  and 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY.  267 

originality  of  Christ’s  mercy  makes  itself  felt.  For 
it  is  probably  in  the  case  of  this  particular  vice  that 
justice  ripens  the  slowest  and  the  seldomest  into  mercy. 
Most  persons  in  whom  the  moral  sense  is  very  strong 
are,  as  we  have  said,  merciful ;  mercy  is  in  general  a 
measure  of  the  highest  degrees  of  keenness  in  the 
moral  sense.  But  there  is  a  limit  beyond  which  it 
seems  almost  impossible  for  mercy,  properly  so  called, 
to  subsist.  There  are  certain  vices  which  seem  to 
indicate  a  criminality  so  ingrained,  or  at  least  so  in¬ 
veterate,  that  mercy  is,  as  it  were,  choked  in  the  deadly 
atmosphere  that  surrounds  them,  and  dies  for  want  of 
that  hope  upon  which  alone  it  can  live.  Vices  that 
are  incorrigible  are  no  proper  objects  of  mercy,  and 
there  are  some  vices  which  virtuous  people  are  found 
particularly  ready  to  pronounce  incorrigible.  Few 
brave  men  have  any  pity  to  spare  for  a  confirmed 
coward.  And  as  cowardice  seems  to  him  who  has  the 
instinct  of  manliness  a  fatal  vice  in  man  as  implying 
an  absence  of  the  indispensable  condition  of  masculine 
virtue,  so  does  confirmed  unchastity  in  woman  seem  a 
fatal  vice  to  those  who  reverence  womanhood.  And 
therefore  little  mercy  for  it  is  felt  by  those  who  take  a 
serious  view  of  sexual  relations.  There  are  multitudes 
who  think  lightly  of  it,  and  therefore  feel  a  good  deal 
of  compassion  for  those  who  suffer  at  the  hands  of 
society  such  a  terrible  punishment  for  it.  There  are 
others  who  can  have  mercy  on  it  while  they  contem¬ 
plate  it,  as  it  were,  at  a  distance,  and  do  not  realize 
how  mortal  to  the  very  soul  of  womanhood  is  the 
habitual  desecration  of  all  the  sacraments  of  love. 
Lastly,  there  are  some  who  force  themselves  to  have 


268 


ECCE  HOMO. 


mercy  on  it  out  of  reverence  for  the  example  of  Christ. 
But  of  those  who  see  it  near,  and  whose  moral  sense 
is  keen  enough  to  judge  of  it,  the  greater  number  pro¬ 
nounce  it  incurable.  We  know  the  pitiless  cruelty 
With  which  virtuous  women  commonly  regard  it. 
Why  is  it  that  in  this  one  case  the  female  sex  is  more 
hard-hearted  than  the  male  ?  Probably  because  in  this 
cne  case  it  feels  more  strongly,  as  might  be  expected, 
the  heinousness  of  the  offence  ;  and  those  men  who 
criticise  women  for  their  cruelty  to  their  fallen  sisters 
do  not  really  judge  from  the  advanced  stage  of  mercy 
but  from  the  lower  stage  of  insensibility.  It  is  com¬ 
monly  by  love  itself  that  men  learn  the  sacredness  of 
love.  Yet,  though  Christ  never  entered  the  realm  of 
sexual  love,  this  sacredness  seems  to  have  been  felt  by 
him  far  more  deeply  than  by  other  men.  We  have 
already  had  an  opportunity  of  observing  ^his  in  the 
case  of  the  woman  taken  in  adultery.  Pie  exhibited 
on  that  occasion  a  profound  delicacy  of  which  there  is 
no  other  example  in  the  ancient  world,  and  which 
anticipates  and  excels  all  that  is  noblest  in  chivalrous 
and  finest  in  modern  manners.  In  his  treatment  of 
the  prostitute,  then,  how  might  we  expect  him  to  act? 
Not,  surely,  with  the  ready  tolerance  of  men,  which 
is  but  laxity ;  we  might  expect  from  him  rather  the 
severity  of  women,  which  is  purity.  Disgust  will 
overpower  him  here,  if  anywhere.  Pie  will  say,  4  Thy 
sin ’s  not  accidental,  but  a  trade.  .  .  .  ’T  is  best 

that  thou  diest  quickly.’  There  is  no  doubt  that  he 
was  not  wanting  in  severity  ;  the  gratitude  that  washed 
his  feet  in  tears  was  not  inspired  by  mere  good-nature. 
But  he  found  mercy  too,  where  mercy  commonly  fails 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY. 


269 


even  in  the  tender  hearts  of  women.  And  mercy 
triumphed,  where  it  commonly  dies  of  mere  despair. 

These  two  stories  may  serve  as  specimens  of  Christ’s 
redeeming  power.  At  the  same  time  they  exhibit  to 
us,  it  is  plain,  the  natural  working  of  the  Enthusiasm 
of  Humanity,  the  essential  spirit  of  Christianity.  The 
latter  story  in  particular  has  gone  to  the  heart  of 
Christendom.  It  has  given  origin  and  even  a  name  to 
institutions  which  are  found  wherever  the  Christian 
Church  is  found,  and  the  object  of  which  is  to  redeem 
women  that  have  fallen  from  virtue.  It  has  given  to 
Christian  art  the  figure  of  the  Magdalen,  which,  when 
contrasted  with  the  Venus  of  Greek  sculpture,  repre¬ 
sents  in  a  very  palpable  manner  the  change  which 
Christ  has  wrought  in  the  moral  feelings  of  mankind 
with  respect  to  women.  May  we  then  lay  it  down 
as  one  of  the  duties  of  positive  morality  to  attempt 
the  restoration  to  virtue  of  the  criminal  and  outcast 
classes? 

The  Christian  Church  has  certainly  always  reckoned 
this  among  its  duties ;  nevertheless  there  exists  at  the 
present  day  among  practical  men  a  strong  repugnance 
to  all  schemes  of  the  kind,  a  repugnance  founded  on 
observation  and  experience,  and  therefore  not  likely  to 
be  wholly  unreasonable.  It  will  be  well  worth  while 
to  state  the  world’s  case  against  the  Christian  doctrine 
of  repentance. 

In  the  first  place,  the  world  will  admit  what  has 
been  said  concerning  the  imperfection  of  the  legal 
system.  It  is  impossible  to  deny  that  the  habit  of 
regarding  criminals  with  unmixed  hatred  is  a  per¬ 
nicious  one.  Law  taken  by  itself  benefits  the  good, 


2  70 


ECCE  HOMO. 


and  so  teir  is  mo^t  useful ;  but  at  the  same  time  it 
makes  the  watering  bad  and  the  bad  worse,  and  vice 
hereditary,  and  so  far  it  does  frightful  mischief.  Mercy 
therefore  must  be  called  in  to  temper  justice,  and  here 
Christianity  is  right.  In  the  tieatment  of  the  criminal 
we  must  consider  his  interest  as  well  as  the  interest  of 
the  injured  party.  We  must  anxiously  study  the  best 
means  of  moderating  punishment  so  as  to  leave  the 
criminal  a  hope  of  recovering  the  public  esteem,  the 
best  means  of  inflicting  a  disgrace  which  shall  not  be 
indelible.  This  is  a  just  principle,  and  Christ’s  pro¬ 
test  against  the  pitiless  rigor  which  the  Jews  exercised 
against  the  publicans  and  sinners  was  right  and  mem¬ 
orable.  If  we  follow  the  example  he  set  we  may  save 
many  who  under  the  legal  system  are  lost  inevitably. 
We  may  arrest  some  at  the  beginning  of  a  bad  career 
whom  the  legal  system  would  hurry  forward.  But  the 
hope  of  recovering  all,  of  melting  the  most  hardened, 
is  an  error  of  enthusiasm.  Men  who  look  facts  in  the 
face,  it  is  said,  recognize  that  vice  when  it  has  once 
fairly  laid  hold  of  a  man  is  an  incurable  disease,  and, 
moreover,  that  it  lays  hold  of  men  with  a  fatal  rapid' 
ity.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  repentance,  and  this 
fact  should  not  be  forgotten  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  i\ 
is  a  mistake  to  attach  very  great  importance  to  it,  foi 
a  practical  and  valuable  repentance  is  very  rare  ;  the 
stage  in  the  criminal’s  career  in  which  it  is  possible  is 
a  short  one,  and  it  is  only  the  less  heinous  forms  of 
criminality  which  admit  of  it  at  all. 

This  is  probably  the  view  which  the  most  temperate 
of  so-called  practical  men  take  of  repentance  when 
they  do  not  allow  themselves  to  be  overawed  by  the 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY. 


271 


authority  of  Christianity.  Clearly  it  is  not  the  view 
of  Christ.  He  is  far  more  hopeful ;  he  believes  that 
the  most  inveterate  and  enormous  criminality  may  be 
shaken  off,  and  he  is  so  sanguine  of  the  possibility  of 
restoring  the  lost  that  he  avows  himself  ready  to  neg¬ 
lect  for  this  enterprise  his  other  task  of  strengthening 
and  developing  the  virtue  of  the  good.  Let  us  en¬ 
deavor  to  discover  the  ground  of  this  difference  of 
opinion. 

The  popular  view,  then,  is  that  there  are  two  kinds 
of  vice.  The  one  includes  whatever  we  understand 
by  infirmities,  as  faults  of  temper,  or  passion.  Un¬ 
controlled  temper  or  unbridled  passions  may  lead  to 
grave  crimes  ;  still  we  regard  these  vices  as  venial, 
and  are  at  all  times  ready  to  believe  in  the  repentance 
and  reformation  of  one  addicted  to  them.  The  other 
class  includes  such  vices  as  perfidy,  brutality,  and 
cowardice  ;  and  of  these,  for  the  most  part,  4  the  world 
will  not  believe  a  man  repents,’  and  when  it  finds  the 
Church  undertaking  to  convert  such  characters  and 
boasting  of  its  success,  it,  whether  openly  or  secretly, 
accuses  Christianity  of  encouraging  hypocrisy.  Now 
if  we  consider  this  classification  of  vices,  or  if  we  ask 
ourselves  how  the  vicious  characters  we  are  disposed 
to  forgive  differ  from  those  to  wl  om  we  refuse  forgive¬ 
ness,  we  shall  find  that  the  one  thing  which  we  con¬ 
sider  indispensable  is  good  impulses.  The  man  who 
has  these  may  commit  any  of  the  crimes  to  which 
turbulent  passions  may  prompt  or  feebleness  of  will 
leave  the  path  open,  and  yet  he  will  not  forfeit  our 
sympathy.  We  shall  continue  to  hope  for  him,  and, 
if  he  should  declare  himself  repentant  and  reformed. 


272 


ECCE  HOMO. 


we  shall  not  suspect  him  of  insincerity,  for  we  shall 
regard  him  as  one  who  all  along  had  the  root  of  the 
matter  in  him.  But  the  cold-blooded,  low-minded 
criminal,  whose  crimes  have  cost  him  no  struggle  and 
no  remorse,  without  ardor  in  his  pulses  or  blush  upon 
his  cheek  —  when  such  a  man  abandons  evil  courses 
we  but  suspect  him  of  some  deeper  treachery  than 
usual,  for  we  see  no  soil  out  of  which  virtue  could 
spring.  This  is  the  rough  philosophy  of  common 
life,  and  in  ordinary  cases  it  serves  us  well  enough. 
4  This  wise  world  of  ours  is  mainly  right.’  But  the 
question  arises,  How  do  these  indispensable  good 
impulses  arise  in  the  mind  ?  If  those  who  have  them 
had  them  from  earliest  childhood  in  the  same  strength, 
and  those  who  want  them  have  never  possessed  them 
in  any  degree,  then  indeed  we  must  reconcile  ourselves 
to  the  maxim,  4  Once  a  villain,  always  a  villain.’  But 
it  will  be  found  that  the  same  rule  holds  of  these  good 
impulses  which  holds  of  all  other  human  endowments, 
namely,  that  though  different  men  may  by  nature 
possess  them  in  different  degrees,  yet  all  possess  them 
in  some  degree  ;  and  also  that  they  require  develop¬ 
ment  by  external  influences.  Further,  it  is  possible 
that  in  the  absence  of  such  influences  they  do  not  die 
but  remain  within  the  man  undiscovered  and  dormant. 
Accordingly,  though  it  is  quite  true  that  where  virtu¬ 
ous  impulses  are  not  active  virtue  cannot  live,  yet  it  is 
by  no  means  certain  that  where  such  impulses  are  not 
active  they  do  not  exist,  and  may  not,  by  the  applica¬ 
tion  of  some  influence,  be  roused  into  activity. 

But,  answers  the  world,  the  better  impulses  do 
tooner  or  later  die  of  this  torpor.  It  is  true  that  they 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY. 


273 


do  not  die  at  once,  and  there  is  a  considerable  period 
during  which  repentance  is  possible.  But  it  never 
lasts  longer  than  youth  :  this  is  the  flexible  and  elastic 
time.  Upon  the  young  try  all  your  methods  of  con¬ 
version  and  regeneration  ;  but  when  youth  is  over,  in 
middle  age,  when  physical  growth  has  ceased,  when 
life  has  been  explored,  when  habit  has  become  as 
powerful  as  nature,  when  no  new  idea  is  welcome  and 
few  new  ideas  are  intelligible,  when  a  man’s  character 
is  understood  by  his  neighbors,  and  any  change  in  his 
conduct  would  excite  their  surprise  and  disturb  their 
calculations,  when  all  things  concur  to  produce  uni¬ 
formity  and  to  prescribe  an  unchangeable  routine  both 
of  thought  and  action,  —  in  this  stage  moral  disease  is 
incurable,  repentance  impossible. 

Again,  there  is  much  truth  in  this.  It  is  an  easy 
thing  to  bring  the  tears  of  repentance  to  the  eyes  of 
a  boy ;  we  see  the  most  striking  changes  pass  upon 
the  whole  life  and  mode  of  thinking  of  young  men  ; 
but  the  period  of  experiments,  the  novitiate,  expires, 
and  the  vicious  habits  of  middle  life  resist,  for  the 
most  part,  the  contagion  of  virtue  and  of  noble  exam¬ 
ples.  The  power  of  the  ordinary  agencies  of  moral 
restoration  which  are  at  work  in  the  world  is  thus 
limited.  But  the  world  will  surely  admit  exceptions 
Agencies  have  at  different  times  been  brought  to  bear 
which  have  had  a  greater  power  than  this,  and  which 
have  roused  good  impulses  in  hearts  that  seemed  dead. 
A  Whitefield,  a  Bernard,  a  Paul  —  not  to  say  a  Christ 
—  have  certainly  shown  that  the  most  confirmed  vice 
is  not  beyond  the  reach  of  regenerating  influences. 
Inspired  men  like  these  appearing  at  intervals  have 


2  74 


ECCE  HOMO. 


wrought  what  may  be  called  moral  miracles.  Nor  is 
it  possible  to  set  bounds  to  the  restoring  and  converting 
power  of  virtue,  when,  as  it  were,  it  takes  fire,  when, 
instead  of  a  rule  teaching  a  man  to  do  justice  to  his 
neighbors,  and  to  benefit  them  when  an  occasion  pre¬ 
sents  itself,  it  becomes  a  burning  and  consuming  pas¬ 
sion  of  benevolence,  an  energy  of  self-devotion,  an 
aggressive  ardor  of  love.  Well!  it  is  this  aggressive, 
exceptional  virtue  that  Christ  assumes  to  be  employed, 
and  that  the  world  leaves  out  of  calculation.  Christ 
is  consistent  here ;  we  have  remarked  repeatedly  that 
he  demands  an  enthusiasm,  and  it  is  consistent  there¬ 
fore  that  he  should  impose  tasks  to  which  only  an 
enthusiasm  is  equal. 

Once  more,  however,  the  world  may  answer,  Christ 
may  be  consistent  in  this,  but  is  he  wise?  It  may  be 
true  that  he  does  demand  an  enthusiasm,  and  that 
such  an  enthusiasm  may  be  capable  of  awakening  the 
moral  sense  in  hearts  in  which  it  seemed  dead.  But 
if,  notwithstanding  this  demand,  only  a  very  few  mem¬ 
bers  of  the  Christian  Church  are  capable  of  the  enthu¬ 
siasm,  what  use  in  imposing  on  the  whole  body  a  task 
which  the  vast  majority  are  not  qualified  to  perform  ? 
Would  it  not  be  well  to  recognize  the  fact  which  we 
cannot  alter,  and  to  abstain  from  demanding  from  frail 
human  nature  what  human  nature  cannot  render? 
Would  it  not  be  well  for  the  Church  to  impose  upon 
its  ordinary  members  only  ordinary  duties?  When 
the  Bernard  or  the  Whitefield  appears,  let  her  by  all 
means  find  occupation  for  him.  Let  her  in  such  cases 
boldly  invade  the  enemy’s  country.  But  in  ordinary 
times  would  it  not  be  well  for  her  to  confine  herself 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY.  2  75 

t 

to  more  modest  and  practicable  undertakings  ?  There 
is  much  for  her  to  do  even  though  she  should  honestly 
confess  herself  unable  to  reclaim  the  lost.  She  may 
train  the  young,  administer  reproof  to  slight  lapses, 
maintain  a  high  standard  of  virtue,  soften  manners, 
diffuse  enlightenment.  Would  it  not  be  well  for  her 
to  adapt  her  ends  to  her  means  ? 

No,  it  would  not  be  well ;  it  would  be  fatal  to  do  so  , 
and  Christ  meant  what  he  said,  and  said  what  was 
true,  when  he  pronounced  the  Enthusiasm  of  Human¬ 
ity  to  be  everything,  and  the  absence  of  it  to  be  the 
absence  of  everything.  The  world  understands  its 
own  routine  well  enough  ;  what  it  does  not  understand 
is  the  mode  of  changing  that  routine.  It  has  no  ap¬ 
preciation  of  the  nature  or  measure  of  the  power  of 
enthusiasm,  and  on  this  matter  it  learns  nothing  from 
experience,  but  after  every  fresh  proof  of  that  power 
relapses  from  its  brief  astonishment  into  its  old  igno¬ 
rance,  and  commits  precisely  the  same  miscalculation 
on  the  next  occasion.  The  power  of  enthusiasm  is, 
indeed,  far  from  being  unlimited  ;  in  some  cases  it  is 
very  small.  History  is  full  of  instances  in  which  it 
has  foamed  itself  away  in  utter  impotence  against 
physical  obstacles.  Painful  it  is  to  read,  and  yet  one 
reads  again  and  again,  of  citizens  who  have  united  in 
close  league  against  some  proud  invader ;  with  enthu¬ 
siastic  dependence  upon  the  justice  of  their  cause,  the 
invincible  force  of  their  patriotism,  and  the  protection 
of  Providence,  when  justice  has  been  found  weaker 
than  power,  and  enthusiasm  than  numbers,  and  Provi¬ 
dence  has  coldly  taken  the  side  of  the  stronger  bat¬ 
talions  But  one  power  enthusiasm  has  almost  without 


276 


ECCE  HOMO. 


limit  —  the  power  of  propagating  itself  —  ami  it  was 
for  this  that  Christ  depended  on  it.  He  contemplated 
a  Church  in  which  the  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity 
should  not  be  felt  by  two  or  three  only  but  widely. 
In  whatever  heart  it  might  be  kindled,  he  calculated 
that  it  would  pass  rapidly  into  other  hearts,  and  that, 
as  it  can  make  its  heat  felt  outside  the  Church,  so  it 
would  preserve  the  Church  itself  from  lukewarmness. 
For  a  lukewarm  Church  he  would  not  condescend  to 
legislate,  nor  did  he  regard  it  as  at  all  inevitable  that 
the  Church  should  become  lukewarm.  He  laid  it  as 
a  duty  upon  the  Church  to  reclaim  the  lost,  because 
he  did  not  think  it  utopian  to  suppose  that  the  Church 
might  be  not  in  its  best  members  only,  but  through  its 
whole  body,  inspired  by  that  ardor  of  humanity  that 
can  charm  away  the  bad  passions  of  the  wildest  heart, 
and  open  to  the  savage  and  the  outlaw  lurking  in 
moral  wildernesses  an  entrancing  view  of  the  holy 
and  tranquil  order  that  broods  over  the  streets  and 
palaces  of  the  city  of  God. 

)  Nevertheless  the  stubborn  fact  remains.  Whatever 
may  be  theoretically  possible  to  the  Enthusiasm  of 
Humanity,  it  does  not  at  the  present  day  often  rise  to 
this  energy.  We  do  not,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  often  see 
these  wonderful  conversions  take  place  ;  and  when 
they  do  appear  to  take  place,  we  have  had  so  much 
experience  of  the  hollowness  of  such  appearances  that 
we  expect  to  find  in  the  end  the  change  transitory  or 
else  hypocritical ;  or,  if  it  be  genuine,  that  the  convert 
was  never  a  criminal  of  the  deepest  dye,  but  perhaps 
rather  unfortunate  than  guilty.  Must  we  not,  then, 
still  conclude  that  Christ  has  in  this  instance  made  a 


THE  LAW  OF  MERCY.  2 7? 

miscalculation,  and  that  if  he  has  not  overrated  the 
power  of  Enthusiasm  so  long  as  Enthusiasm  exists,  he 
has  at  least  overrated  the  probability  of  its  continuing 
long,  and  underrated  the  power  of  the  agencies  which 
are  always  at  work  to  damp  and  quench  it?  Instead 
of  presuming  that  the  Church  would  generally  be 
under  the  influence  of  enthusiasm,  ought  he  not  rather 
to  have  foreseen  that  it  would  generally  be  lukewarm 
and  enthusiastic  only  at  rare  intervals?  The  answer 
is,  that  Christ  does  not  actually  seem  to  have  been 
thus  sanguine,  but  he  counted  the  Enthusiasm  not 
merely  an  important  but  an  absolutely  essential  thing, 
and  therefore  left  no  directions  as  to  what  should  be 
done  when  it  was  absent.  He  did  not  disguise  from 
himself  the  probability  of  great  seasons  of  depression 
occurring  in  the  Church,  ebbs  in  the  tide  of  the  Enthu¬ 
siasm  of  Humanity.  He  spoke  of  a  time  when  the 
love  of  many  should  wax  cold ;  he  doubted  whether 
on  his  return  to  the  earth  he  should  find  faith  in  it. 
And  the  Apostles  in  like  manner  became  sensible  that 
their  inspiration  was  liable  to  intermissions.  They 
regard  it  as  possible  to  grieve  the  Divinity  who  re¬ 
sided  within  them,  and  even  to  quench  his  influence. 
But  neither  they  nor  Christ  even  for  a  moment  sup¬ 
pose  that,  if  he  should  take  his  flight,  it  is  possible  to 
do  without  him,  or  that  the  sphere  of  Christian  duty  is 
to  be  narrowed  to  suit  the  lukewarmness  of  Christian 
feeling.  Christianity  is  an  enthusiasm  or  it  is  nothing  ; 
and  if  there  sometimes  appear  in  the  history  of  the 
Church  instances  of  a  tone  which  is  pure  and  high 
without  being  enthusiastic,  of  a  mood  of  Christian 
feeling  which  is  calmly  favorable  to  virtue  without 


278 


ECCE  HOMO. 


being  victorious  against  vice,  it  will  probably  be  found 
that  all  that  is  respectable  in  such  a  mood  is  but  the 
slowly-subsiding  movement  of  an  earlier  enthusiasm, 
and  all  that  is  produced  by  the  lukewarmness  of  the 
time  itself  is  hypocrisy  and  corrupt  conventionalism. 

Christianity,  then,  would  sacrifice  its  divinity  if  it 
abandoned  its  missionary  character  and  became  a 
mere  educational  institution.  Surely  this  Article  of 
Conversion  is  the  true  articulus  st  antis  aut  cadent  is 
ecclesice.  When  the  power  of  reclaiming  the  lost  dies 
out  of  the  Church,  it  ceases  to  be  the  Church.  It  may 
remain  a^  useful  institution,  though  it  is  most  likely  to 
become  an  immoral  and  mischievous  one.  Where  the 
power  remains,  there,  whatever  is  wanting,  it  may 
still  be  said  that  i  the  tabernacle  of  God  is  with  men.5 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


THE  LAW  OF  RESENTMENT. 

It  -s  not  the  fault  of  the  divine  virtue  of  Mercy  that 
it  is,  so  readily  counterfeited  by  the  vice  of  insensi¬ 
bility.  The  difference  is  indeed  vast,  but  it  often  does 
not  express  Itself  at  all  in  outward  deeds.  The  differ¬ 
ence  lies  in  diat  indignation  at  vice  which  in  the  mer¬ 
ciful  man  may  often  be  suppressed,  while  in  the  merely 
tolerant  man  it  has  no  existence.  Mercy  has  been  de¬ 
fined  above  as  a  feeling  of  mixed  indignation  and  pity  ; 
properly  speaking,  Mercy  is  present  wherever  such  a 
feeling  is  entertained,  whether  the  action  dictated  by 
the  feeling  be  punishment  or  forgiveness.  There  are 
occasions  when  the  wise  man  who  entertains  this  com¬ 
pound  feeling  will  see  fit  to  indulge  the  pity  and  sup¬ 
press  the  indignation  ;  there  are  other  occasions  when 
he  will  gratify  the  indignation  and  resist  the  impulses 
of  pity.  But  he  is  not  merciful  unless  he  feels  both. 
Thus  the  man  who  cannot  be  angry  cannot  be  mer¬ 
ciful,  and  we  shall  be  able  to  assure  ourselves  that 
that  unbounded  compassion  for  sinners  which  Christ 
showed  was  really  Mercy  and  not  mere  tolerance, 
by  inquiring  whether  on  other  occasions  he  showed 
himself  capable  of  anger. 

Of  the  two  feelings  which  go  to  compose  Mercy  tlie 
indignation  requires  to  be  satisfied  first.  The  first  im* 


2  So 


ECCE  HOMO. 


pulse  roused  by  the  sight  of  vice  should  be  the  impulse 
of  opposition  and  hostility.  To  convict  it,  to  detect  it, 
to  contend  with  it,  to  put  it  down,  is  the  first  and  in¬ 
dispensable  thing.  It  is  indeed  a  fair  object  of  pity 
even  while  it  remains  undetected  and  prosperous,  but 
such  pity  must  be  passive  and  must  not  dare  to  ex¬ 
press  itself  in  deeds.  It  is  not  mercy  but  treason 
against  justice  to  relent  towards  vice  so  long  as  it  is 
triumphant  and  insolent.  So  long,  if  we  may  venture 
upon  the  expression,  mercy  will  be  even  sterner  and 
more  ur  pitying  than  justice,  as  the  poet  felt  when  he 
wrote 

And  0  !  if  some  strange  trance 
The  eyelids  of  thy  sterner  sister  press, 

Seize,  Mercy,  thou,  more  terrible,  the  brand, 

And  hurl  her  thunderbolts  with  fiercer  hand. 

But  the  moment  that  indignation  begins  to  be  in  some 
measure  satisfied,  pity  awakes  ;  and  when  indignation 
is  satiated  then  Pity  occupies  the  whole  mind  of  the 
merciful  man.  We  have  seen  Christ  when  his  feel¬ 
ings  were  in  this  latter  condition,  when  he  moved 
among  that  class  of  criminals  upon  whom  justice  had 
in  some  measure  done  its  work.  They  were  suffering 
the  sentence  of  social  excommunication.  His  indig¬ 
nation  towards  them  was  not  dead  but  satisfied,  and 
therefore  in  his  demeanor  few  traces  of  it  appear. 
But  there  must  have  been  in  Palestine  another  class 
of  criminals,  a  class  which  is  found  in  all  countries, 
whose  vices  are  not  detected  or  pass  for  virtues,  and 
who  accordingly  reap  all  the  advantages  and  suffer 
none  of  the  penalties  of  crime.  In  the  pre&ence  of 
such  a  class  true  Mercy,  as  we  have  seen,  makes  her 


THE  LAW  OF  RESENTMENT.  2&I 

face  as  a  flint,  and  hardens  and  stiffens  into  mere 
Justice. 

We  find,  then,  in  Palestine  a  class  of  persons  towards 
whom  Christ’s  demeanor  was  precisely  of  this  kind. 
It  was  a  class  not  less  influential  and  important  than 
might  be  produced  in  England  by  fusing  the  bar,  the 
clergy,  and  universities  and  the  literary  class  into  one 
vast  intellectual  order.  It  is  to  be  remembered  that 
with  the  Jews  theology,  law,  science,  and  literature 
were  but  different  aspects  of  one  thing,  the  Divine 
Revelation  which  had  been  made  to  their  fathers  and 
which  was  contained  for  them  in  the  Scriptures  of  the 
Old  Testament  supplemented,  in  the  view  of  the  most 
influential  party,  by  a  Tradition  of  equal  antiquity  and 
authority.  As  there  was  but  one  sort  of  learning, 
there  was  but  one  learned  profession,  consisting  of  the 
expounders  of  this  ancient  wisdom.  At  least  these 
constituted  the  one  learned  profession  which  had 
much  influence  at  this  time,  and  which  could  be  said 
to  deserve  the  title.  The  old  Aaronic  priesthood  still 
existed,  but  it  bore  the  stamp  of  a  ruder  age  and 
wanted  the  character  and  acquirements  which  con¬ 
ferred  influence  in  an  age  of  books  and  study.  As  in 
Greece  the  priesthood  passed  into  insignificance  and 
resigned  the  task  of  instructing  the  people,  so  far  as 
they  had  ever  undertaken  it,  to  the  philosophers,  so  in 
Judaea  they  were  eclipsed  first  by  the  prophets  and 
afterwards,  when  the  faith  in  in&piration  began  tc  die 
out,  by  the  commentators  on  the  old  Law.  The  order 
of  Aaron  gave  place  to  the  order  which  regarded  Ezra 
as  its  founder ;  the  priest  gave  place  to  the  Scribe  oj 
Lawyer. 


282 


KCCE  HOMO. 


At  the  time  when  the  national  institutions  of  Judaea 
were  threatened  by  the  Greek  kings  of  Syria,  there 
sprang  up  a  party  composed  of  those  who  clung  most 
fondly  to  ancient  traditions,  the  object  of  which  was  to 
preserve  the  nation  from  losing  its  peculiarity  through 
the  infection  of  Greek  manners  and  opinions.  They 
l)oi e  the  name  of  Pharisees.  As  the  national  party 
they  found  it  easy  to  become  popular,  and,  in  spite  of 
some  opposition  and  persecution  from  the  Asmonean 
kings,  they  continued  in  the  time  of  Christ  to  exercise 
a  commanding  influence  over  the  people.  It  is  natural 
to  suppose  that  this  party  included  most  of  that  great 
learned  profession  just  described.  A  Scribe  would 
naturally  be  a  Pharisee,  inasmuch  as  one  who  devoted 
his  life  to  the  study  of  the  Law  would  naturally  be 
zealous  in  defence  of  it.  Accordingly  in  the  New 
Testament,  the  Scribes,  Lawyers,  and  Pharisees  are 
commonly  named  together,  being  in  fact  partly  identi¬ 
cal  and  altogether  congenial  in  views  and  interests. 
And  they  may  be  considered  as  composing  practically 
one  party. 

With  the  main  object  which  this  party  had  in  view 
none  can  have  sympathized  more  than  Christ.  None, 
certainly,  regarded  the  ancient  revelation  with  more 
1  everence  than  he ;  none  can  have  been  more  unwill¬ 
ing  to  see  the  national  institutions  of  the  Jews  suj> 
planted  and  superseded  by  the  customs  of  the  sur* 
rounding  nations.  It  might  therefore  have  been 
expected  that  Christ  would  rather  take  the  lead  among 
the  Scribes  and  lawyers  than  set  himself  in  opposition 
to  them.  And,  indeed,  it  is  likely  enough  that,  as 
Socrates  passed  with  the  world  for  a  sophist,  so  Christ 


THE  LAW  OF  RESENTMENT.  283 

was  regarded  by  the  people  in  general  as  a  leading 
Scribe  or  expounder  of  the  Law.  But  if  we  examine 
the  character  of  that  great  party  more  closely,  we 
shall  find  that  they  not  only  differed  from  Christ  but 
were  radically  opposed  to  him,  and  that  they  were  not 
only  in  spirit  unchristian  but  essentially  anti-christian. 
The  whole  course  of  this  investigation  has  shown  that 
the  substance  of  Christ’s  teaching  was  his  doctrine  of 
Enthusiasm,  or  of  a  present  Spirit  dictating  the  right 
course  of  action  and  superseding  the  necessity  of  par¬ 
ticular  rules.  Now  the  doctrine  of  the  Scribes,  law¬ 
yers,  and  Pharisees  may  be  briefly  summed  up  by 
saying  that  it  consisted  in  the  denial  of  a  present 
Spirit,  and  in  the  assertion  of  the  paramount  necessity 
of  particular  rules.  They  believed  that  the  inspiring 
Power  which  had  dwelt  with  their  ancestors  and 
made  them  virtuous  was  withdrawn,  and  they  com¬ 
piled  out  of  the  works  of  those  ancestors  an  elaborate 
system  of  rules  which  might  serve  them  for  guidance 
in  his  absence.  In  other  words,  their  doctrine  and 
Christ’s  were  precisely  contrary  to  each  other. 

Both  Christ  and  the  legalist  desired  to  preserve  Ju¬ 
daism,  but  the  legalist  believed  that  in  order  to  do  this 
it  was  necessary  to  adopt  a  defensive  attitude,  to  throw 
up  walls  of  partition,  and  as  much  as  possible  to  iso¬ 
late  the  Jew  from  those  dangerous  influences  which 
might  otherwise  have  obliterated  his  nationality.  This 
belief  was  a  confession  of  the  weakness  of  the  Jewish 
principle,  a  confession  that  it  had  ceased  to  be  a  match 
for  the  influences  in  the  midst  of  which  it  was  placed, 
and  it  suggested  a  number  of  hateful  and  immoral 
contrivances  for  perpetuating  the  division  between 


284 


ECCE  HOMO. 


Jew  and  Gentile.  The  hatred  which  the  Jews  in¬ 
curred  from  the  surrounding  nations,  the  fancy  current 
among  the  Gentiles  that  Moses  had  forbidden  them  to 
show  a  traveller  the  way  unless  he  professed  their 
own  belief,  or  to  direct  a  thirsty  man  to  the  fountain 
unless  he  were  circumcised,  had  its  rise  in  this  odious 
theory  of  isolation. 

Christ,  on  the  contrary,  proposed  to  preserve  Juda¬ 
ism  by  putting  it  upon  the  offensive,  by  making  it 
universal.  And  this  plan  implied  his  belief  in  its  in¬ 
vincible,  heaven-inspired  strength.  He  held  that  the 
same  Divine  Power  which  had  originally  legislated 
for  the  Jews  was  still  present,  completing  his  legisla¬ 
tion  and  annulling  whatever  in  it  was  outworn  by  the 
Enthusiasm  of  Humanity  kindled  in  men’s  hearts  and 
issuing  decrees  as  authoritative  as  those  of  Moses. 
And  in  this  Enthusiasm  he  confided  as  powerful 
enough  to  resist  whatever  was  corrupting  in  Gentile 
influences  and  to  assimilate  what  was  good.  There¬ 
fore,  while  the  legalists  provoked  the  Gentile  world  to 
that  final  attack  upon  the  Jewish  nation  which  de¬ 
prived  it  of  its  temple  and  its  country,  Christ  initiated 
that  reconciliation  of  Jew  and  Gentile  which  was  seen 
in  the  early  Church. 

Again,  both  Christ  and  the  legalist  devoted  them- 
selyes  to  the  promotion  of  moral  virtue.  They  agreed 
in  thinking  everything  unimportant  in  comparison 
with  Duty.  But  the  legalist  believed  that  the  old 
method  by  which  their  ancestors  had  arrived  at  a 
knowledge  of  the  requirements  of  Duty,  namely,  di¬ 
vine  inspiration,  was  no  longer  available,  and  that 
nothing  therefore  remained  but  carefully  to  collect  the 


THE  LAW  OF  RESENTMENT.  285 

results  at  which  their  ancestors  had  arrived  by  this 
method,  to  adopt  these  results  as  rules,  and  to  observe 
them  punctiliously.  Devoutly  believing  that  in  the 
most  trifling  matter  where  action  was  involved  there 
was  a  right  course  and  a  wrong  one,  and  at  the  same 
time  entirely  deserted  by  the  instinct  or  inspiration 
which  distinguishes  the  one  from  the  other,  they  in¬ 
vented  the  most  frivolous  casuistry  that  has  ever  been 
known.  They  overburdened  men’s  memories  and 
perplexed  their  lives  with  an  endless  multitude  of 
rules,  which  sometimes  were  simply  trivial :  e.  g. 
4  An  egg  laid  on  a  festival  day  may  be  eaten  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  school  of  Shammai,  but  the  school  of  Hillel 
says  it  must  not  be  eaten,’  and  at  other  times  were 
immoral,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Corban  which  Christ 
selected  for  censure. 

Precisely  in  opposition  to  this  school  Christ  pro¬ 
claimed  that  the  inspiration  which  had  instructed  the 
ancient  Jews  was  not  only  not  withdrawn,  but  was 
given  to  his  own  generation  in  far  greater  measure 
than  to  any  previous  one.  John  the  Baptist,  he  said, 
was  the  greatest  of  the  prophets,  and  the  least  of  his 
own  followers  was  greater  than  John.  The  inspira¬ 
tion  of  the  prophets  had  revealed  to  them  some  of 
their  duties,  but  had  left  them  unenlightened  about 
others ;  an  inspiration  was  now  given  which  should 
illuminate  the  whole  province  of  moral  obligation. 
Casuistry  therefore,  so  far  from  being  important,  was 
less  needed  than  ever,  and  it  was  so  far  from  being 
necessary  to  supplement  the  written  Scriptures  by  a 
traditional  law  that  those  written  Scrmtures  them¬ 
selves,  though  they  retained  their  sacredness  and  value, 


286 


ECCE  HOMO. 


yet  ceased  henceforth  to  be,  in  the  strict  sense,  a  bind¬ 
ing  law. 

So  direct  was  Christ’s  opposition  to  the  legal  party. 
The  method  of  promoting  moral  virtue  which  he  pro¬ 
posed  was  not  regarded  by  him  as  merely  better  than 
the  casuistry  of  his  opponents,  but  as  the  only  method. 
The  other  method,  in  his  view,  could  not  produce 
virtue,  though  it  might  sometimes  procure  the  per¬ 
formance  of  a  right  deed ;  it  could  but  destroy  in 
men’s  minds  the  very  conception  of  virtue.  It  could 
issue  in  nothing  but  a  certain  moral  pedantry  and  in 
pride.  Therefore  he  denounced  without  qualification 
the  whole  system  and  the  teachers  of  it.  Apologetic 
voices  might  perhaps  have  been  raised,  urging  that 
these  teachers,  if  their  system  was  worthless  and  mis¬ 
chievous,  nevertheless  did,  at  least  in  some  cases,  the 
best  they  could,  that  they  were  serious  and  made 
others  serious,  and  that  at  the  worst  any  moral  teach¬ 
ing  was  better  than  none.  We  do  not  know  how  Christ 
would  have  answered  this  plea,  but  we  know  that  he 
suffered  no  such  considerations  to  mitigate  the  sternness 
of  his  condemnation.  He  who  could  make  allowance 
for  the  publican  and  the  prostitute  made  no  allowance 
at  all  for  the  Pharisee.  If  we  examine  the  charges 
he  makes  against  them  we  shall  see  that  he  accuses 
them  in  the  first  place  of  downright,  undisguised  vice. 
He  calls  them  plunderers  of  the  poor,  and  declares 
that  the  countless  rules  which  they  impose  upon 
others  they  take  no  trouble  to  observe  themselves.  We 
have  not  the  evidence  before  us  which  might  enable 
us  to  verify  these  accusations.  All  that  can  be  said  is 
that  those  who  are  constantly  endeavoring  to  avoid 


THE  LAW  OF  RESENTMENT. 


287 


infinitesimal  sins,  such  as  that  of  eating  an  egg  laid 
on  a  festival  day,  are  particularly  apt  to  fall  into  sins 
that  are  ‘  gross  as  a  mountain,  open  palpable/  In 
this  sense  it  is  true  that  ‘  la  petite  morale  est  Tennemi 
de  la  grande/  But  it  is  evident  that  Christ  was  not 
better  pleased  with  their  good  deeds  than  with  their 
bad  ones.  Their  good  deeds  had  the  nature  of  impos¬ 
ture,  that  is,  they  did  not  proceed  from  the  motives 
from  which  such  deeds  naturally  spring  and  from  which 
the  public  suppose  them  to  spring.  When  these  men 
tithed  their  property  for  the  service  of  religion,  did 
they  do  so  from  the  ardent  feelings  which  had  sug¬ 
gested  the  oblations  of  David  in  old  times?  No  doubt 
the  people  thought  so,  but  in  truth  they  paid  tithes 
from  a  motive  which  might  just  as  well  have  prompted 
them  to  take  tithes  —  respect  for  a  traditional  rule. 
When  they  searched  and  sifted  the  Scriptures,  fancy¬ 
ing,  as  Christ  said,  that  in  them  they  had  eternal  life, 
did  they  do  so  because  they  felt  deeply  the  wisdom 
of  the  old  prophets  and  legislators?  The  people,  no 
doubt,  thought  that  these  diligent  students  were  pos¬ 
sessed  with  the  sjDirit  of  what  they  read,  but  the  truth 
was  that  they  only  pored  over  the  ancient  scrolls 
because  they  understood  that  it  was  proper  to  read 
them.  Therefore  the  more  they  read  the  less  they 
understood,  and  they  paid  the  same  reverence  to  the 
languid  futilities  of  some  purblind  commentator  as  to 
the  inspirations  of  Isaiah.  When  they  lauded  the 
ancient  prophets  and  built  their  sepulchres,  was  it 
because  they  were  congenial  spirits,  formed  in  their 
school  and  bent  upon  following  in  their  steps?  The 
people  thought  so,  but  Christ  pronounced  with  memo- 


288 


ECCE  HOMO. 


rable  point  and  truth  —  what  is  true  of  many  other 
worshippers  of  antiquity  besides  the  Pharisees  —  that 
they  were  the  legitimate  representatives  of  those  who 
killed  the  -prophets,  and  that  they  betrayed  this  by  the 
very  worship  which  they  paid  to  their  memory. 

Let  us  linger  on  this  for  a  moment.  It  is  trite,  that 
an  original  man  is  persecuted  in  his  lifetime  and  idol¬ 
ized  after  his  death,  but  it  is  a  less  familiar  truth  that 
the  posthumous  idolaters  are  the  legitimate  successors 
and  representatives  of  the  contemporary  persecutors. 
The  glory  of  the  original  man  is  this,  that  he  does  not 
take  his  virtues  and  his  views  of  things  at  second 
hand,  but  draws  wisdom  fresh  from  nature  and  from 
the  inspiration  within  him.  To  the  majority  in  every 
age,  that  is,  to  the  superficial  and  the  feeble,  such 
originality  is  alarming,  perplexing,  fatiguing.  They 
unite  to  crush  the  innovator.  But  it  may  be  that  by 
his  own  energy  and  by  the  assistance  of  his  followers 
he  proves  too  strong  for  them.  Gradually,  about  the 
close  of  his  career,  or,  it  may  be,  after  it,  they  are 
compelled  to  withdraw  their  opposition  and  to  imitate 
the  man  whom  they  had  denounced.  They  are  com¬ 
pelled  to  do  that  which  is  most  frightful  to  them,  to 
abandon  their  routine.  And  then  there  occurs  to  them 
a  thought  which  brings  inexpressible  relief.  Out  of 
the  example  of  the  original  man  they  can  make  a  new 
routine.  They  may  imitate  him  in  everything  except 
his  originality.  For  one  routine  is  as  easy  to  pace  as 
another.  What  they  dread  is  the  necessity  of  originat¬ 
ing,  the  fatigue  of  being  really  alive.  And  thus  the 
second  half  of  the  original  man’s  destiny  is  really 
worse  than  the  first,  and  his  failure  is  written  more 


THE  LAW  OF  RESENTMENT.  289 

legibly  in  the  blind  veneration  of  succeeding  ages  than 
in  the  blind  hostility  of  his  own.  He  broke  the  chains 
by  which  men  were  bound ;  he  threw  open  to  them 
the  doors  leading  into  the  boundless  freedom  of  nature 
and  truth.  But  in  the  next  generation  he  is  idolized 
and  nature  and  truth  as  much  forgotten  as  ever ;  if  he 
f.nuld  return  to  earth  he  would  find  that  the  crowbars 
and  files  with  which  he  made  his  way  out  of  the  prison- 
house  have  been  forged  into  the  bolts  and  chains  of  a 
new  prison  called  by  his  own  name.  And  who  are 
those  who  idolize  his  memory  ?  Who  are  found  build¬ 
ing  his  sepulchre?  Precisely  the  same  party  which 
resisted  his  reform ;  those  who  are  born  for  routine 
and  can  accommodate  themselves  to  everything  but 
freedom  ;  those  who  in  clinging  to  the  wisdom  of  the 
past  suppose  they  love  wisdom  but  in  fact  love  only 
the  past,  and  love  the  past  only  because  they  hate  the 
living  present ;  those,  in  a  word,  who  set  Abraham, 
Isaac,  and  Jacob  in  opposition  to  Christ,  and  appeal 
to  the  God  of  the  dead  against  the  God  of  the  living. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  legal  partv  were  actors  in  every¬ 
thing,  winning  the  reverence  of  the  multitude  by  false 
pretences,  imitating  inspired  men  in  everything  except 
their  inspiration,  following  motives  which  did  not  actu¬ 
ate  them  but  which  they  supposed  ought  to  actuate 
them.  And  as  must  most  infallibly  happen  to  men 
living  in  such  conventionalism,  destitute  of  convictions, 
the  healthy  play  of  life  artificially  suspended,  over  the 
whole  inert  stagnation  of  the  soul  there  grew  a  scurf 
of  feeble  corruption  ;  petty  vices,  littlenesses,  mean¬ 
nesses,  were  rife  within  them.  They  grew  conceited, 
pompous,  childish.  They  liked  to  hear  the  sound  of 

l3 


290 


ECCE  HOMO. 


their  titles,  to  exaggerate  the  distinctions  of  their  dress, 
to  reflect  upon  their  superiority  to  other  men,  to  find 
that  superiority  acknowledged,  to  be  greeted  reveren¬ 
tially  in  public  places,  to  recline  on  the  first  couch  at 
dinner  pa  rties.  The  virtues  to  the  cultivation  of  which 
in  themselves  and  others  they  had  devoted  their  lives 
refused  altogether  to  be  cultivated  by  the  methods  they 
used,  and  in  the  void  place  of  their  hearts  where 
morality  and  sanctity,  justice  and  the  love  of  God, 
should  have  been,  there  appeared  at  last  nothing  to 
mark  th'j  religious  man,  nothing,  we  may  suppose, 
except  a  little  ill-temper,  a  faint  spite  against  those 
who  held  wrong  opinions,  a  feeble  self-important 
pleasure  in  detecting  heresy. 

Such  was  the  party  which  Christ  denounced  with 
so  much  passion.  It  may  strike  us  that  however 
corrupt  they  may  have  been  they  could  hardly  deserve 
to  be  pronounced  worse  than  publicans  and  harlots. 
But  Christ  never  went  so  far  as  this.  He  did  indeed 
in  a  parable  contrast  the  prayer  of  a  Pharisee  un¬ 
favorably  with  the  prayer  of  a  publican,  but  it  was  a 
publican  repenting,  and  the  moral  of  the  comparison 
is,  4  Better  commit  a  great  sin  and  be  ashamed  of  it, 
than  a  smaller  one  and  be  proud  of  it/  And  when  he 
said  that  the  very  harlots  entered  the  Christian  Church 
before  the  Pharisees,  he  again  meant  to  charge  them 
not  with  being  worse  but  less  corrigible  than  those 
whose  vices  were  too  gross  to  leave  room  for  self- 
delusion.  Still  it  is  plain  that  he  gave  way  to  anger 
far  more  in  addressing  Pharisees  than  in  addressing 
publicans  and  harlots. 

In  doing  so  he  only  followed  the  rule  laid  down 


THE  LAW  OF  RESENTMENT.  29I 

above.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that,  as  a  lover  of 
men,  he  felt  less  pity  for  those  whom  he  denounced 
when  all  the  world  admired  them  than  for  those  whose 
part  he  took  when  all  the  world  disowned  them. 
Indeed  his  most  passionate  invective  closes  in  that 
singular  lamentation  over  Jerusalem  in  which  the  sad* 
dest  feelings  of  a  sensitive  patriot  are  so  inimitably 
blended  with  the  regal  sense  of  personal  greatness 
which  he  continually  and  with  so  much  unconscious¬ 
ness  betrayed.  He  felt  pity  as  well  as  anger,  but  he 
thought  the  anger  had  a  better  right  to  be  expressed. 
The  impostors  must  be  first  unmasked  ;  they  might  be 
forgiven  afterwards,  if  they  should  abandon  their  con¬ 
ventionalities.  The  lover  of  men  is  angry  to  see  harm 
done  to  men.  Harm  was  done  by  the  publican  and 
the  prostitute,  but  anger  could  do  no  more  against 
these  than  it  did  already.  Men  were  on  their  guard 
against  them,  their  power  for  evil  was  circumscribed 
as  far  as  it  could  be,  and  justice  was  satisfied  by  the 
punishment  of  infamy  which  had  been  inflicted  upon 
them.  But  the  lover  of  men,  when  he  contemplated 
the  vast  and  united  phalanx  of  legalists,  saw  that  which 
carried  him  out  of  himself  with  anger  and  pain.  He 
saw  the  multitude  sitting  at  their  feet  as  learners  and 
addressing  them  with  titles  of  veneration.  He  saw 
those  whose  lot  confined  them  to  the  narrow  cares  of 
subsistence,  those  whose  limbs  indeed  were  continu¬ 
ally  exercised  in  handicrafts  and  their  shrewdness  in 
trades,  but  whose  higher  faculties  rusted  in  disuse,  and 
those  of  higher  station,  upon  whom  fell  larger  tasks  of 
administration  and  government  but  still  secular  tasks 
overwhelming  the  mind  with  details  and  concealing 


ECCE  1IOMO. 


292 

eternal  principles  from  its  view,  —  he  saw  all  this 
miscellaneous  crowd  gathering  round  their  revered 
teachers  eager  for  the  wisdom  and  the  instruction 
which  might  save  their  souls  in  the  all-ingulfing 
vortex  of  earthly  life.  He  saw  that  in  the  hands  of 
these  teachers  were  laid  the  life  and  salvation  of  the 
ration,  and  that  from  them  was  certain  to  pass  readily 
into  other  minds  whatever  enthusiasm  of  goodness 
might  dwell  in  their  own.  He  looked  for  this  enthusi¬ 
asm  ;  doubtless  he  was  prepared  to  find  it  immature 
and  not  altogether  that  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity  which 
dwelt  in  himself.  He  observed  these  teachers  —  and 
he  found  they  were  mountebanks.  Their  gestures, 
their  costume,  were  theatrical ;  their  whole  life  was 
an  acted  play ;  the  wisdom  that  came  from  their  lips 
was  repeated  with  more  or  less  fluency,  but  it  had  been 
learned  by  rote  ;  sometimes  it  was  good,  the  wisdom 
of  Moses  or  Isaiah,  sometimes  it  was  the  dotage  of 
a  Shammai ;  but,  wise  or  foolish,  it  came  with  equal 
emphasis  from  those  who,  solely  occupied  with  the 
fretting  and  the  strutting  they  considered  proper  to  the 
part,  declaimed  it  in  the  dress  of  teachers  to  an  admir¬ 
ing  audience.  And  marking  this,  he  considered  that 
the  power  of  these  men  to  do  mischief  was  equal  to 
or  greater  than  their  power  to  do  good.  It  would  be 
letter  that  the  Jews  should  have  no  teachers  of  wisdom 
at  all,  than  that  they  should  have  teachers  who  should 
give  them  folly  under  the  name  of  wisdom.  Better 
that  in  the  routine  of  a  laborious  life  they  should  hear 
of  wisdom  as  a  thing  more  costly  than  pearls  but 
beyond  their  reach,  than  that  it  should  seem  to  be 
brought  within  their  reach  and  they  should  discover 


THE  LAW  OF  RESENTMENT.  <393 

it  to  be  paste.  Acknowledged  penury  of  wisdom 
might  leave  them  rich  in  humility,  reveience,  and 
faith  ;  abundance  of  false  wisdom  could  but  make  them 
impostors  or  cynics.  If  a  divine  revelation  be  the  first 
of  blessings,  then  the  imposture  that  counterfeits  it 
must  be  by  far  the  greatest  of  all  evils.  And  if  the 
unlucky  malefactor  who  in  mere  brutality  of  ignorance 
or  narrowness  of  nature  or  of  culture  has  wronged  his 
neighbor  excite  our  anger,  how  much  deeper  should 
be  our  indignation  when  intellect  and  eloquence  are 
abused  to  selfish  purposes,  when  studious  leisure  and 
learning  and  thought  turn  traitors  to  the  cause  of 
human  well-being,  and  the  wells  of  a  nation’s  moral 
life  are  poisoned? 

This,  then,  was  the  class  of  persons  with  whom 
Christ  was  angry,  and  these  were  the  reasons  of  his 
anger.  But  now  let  us  inquire  what  was  the  character 
of  his  anger.  We  must  remember  that  this  is  he  who 
was  called  a  lamb.  He  was  distinguished  from  the 
other  remarkable  characters  of  antiquity  by  his  gentle¬ 
ness.  He  introduced  into  human  nature  those  blended 
and  complex  feelings  which  distinguish  modern  char¬ 
acters  from  ancient.  Now  the  question  may  be  raised 
whether  this  complexity  of  character  is  not  purchased 
at  some  expense  of  strength.  Ancient  valor  was  well- 
nigh  pitiless.  Modern  soldiers  mix  pity  with  theii 
v  alor :  have  they  lost  any  valor  by  doing  so?  In  like 
manner,  when  we  are  angry  with  men  in  these  days, 
we  are  commonly  angry  with  discrimination.  We 
make  reserves ;  we  give  some  credit  for  good  inten¬ 
tions  ;  we  make  some  allowance  for  temptations ;  we 
are  sorry  to  be  angry,  and  do  not,  like  the  ancients. 


ECCE  HOMO. 


294 

enjoy  the  passion  as  if  it  were  wine.  The  question 
then  arises,  has  the  passion  of  anger  grown  at  all  fee¬ 
bler  in  us?  Are  we  at  all  emasculated  by  the  com¬ 
plexity  of  our  emotions?  To  find  an  answer  let  us 
look  at  the  great  Exemplar  of  modern  characters  ;  let 
us  inquire  whether  he  was  feeble  in  his  anger ;  let  us 
consider  the  wrath  of  the  Lamb. 

The  faults  of  the  legal  party  were  such  as  it  is  very 
difficult  to  reprove,  because  they  were  of  so  refined 
and  impalpable  a  character.  These  men  had  not  been 
guilty  for  the  most  part  of  open  crime ;  if  they  had 
done  wrong,  they  had  done  so  probably  not  without 
some  good  intention  ;  if  they  had  deluded  others,  they 
had  deluded  themselves  first.  Christ  recognized  the 
impalpable,  insidious  character  of  their  corrupting  in¬ 
fluence  when  he  charged  his  followers  to  beware  of 
the  leaven,  that  is,  the  infection,  of  the  Pharisees.  It 
is  difficult  to  reprove  a  party  like  this,  without  either 
making  so  many  qualifications  as  to  deprive  the  re¬ 
proof  of  most  of  its  force,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  com¬ 
mitting  an  apparent  injustice.  But  Christ’s  anger  was 
not  to  be  restrained  by  such  considerations.  One  in¬ 
vective  has  been  preserved,  probably  on  account  of  the 
concentrated  passion  of  indignation  which  breathes 
through  it,  and  perhaps  also  because,  more  than  any¬ 
thing  else,  it  determined  the  legalists  to  lay  their  plct 
against  Christ’s  life.  It  makes  no  qualifications,  it  says 
not  a  word  about  good  intentions  nor  about  over¬ 
whelming  temptations.  Delivered  in  the  presence  of 
the  multitude,  on  whose  admiration  the  legalists  lived, 
it  denounces  a  succession  of  woes  upon  the  whole  all- 
powerful  order,  reiterating  many  times  ti  e  charge  of 


1  HE  LAW  OF  RESENTMENT. 


295 


imposture,  and  coupling  it  with  almost  every  other 
biting  reproach  that  can  be  imagined.  It  charges  them 
with  childish  pedantry,  with  vexatious  and  grinding 
oppression,  and,  what  was  especially  severe  as  ad¬ 
dressed  to  the  learned  class,  with  ignorance  and  with  the 
haired  of  knowledge.  To  the  men  who  supposed  that 
they  monopolized  the  most  infallible  rules,  the  most 
exquisite  methods  of  discovering  truth,  he  says,  4  You 
have  taken  away  the  key  of  knowledge  ;  you  enter  not 
in  yourselves,  and  those  that  were  entering  in  you  hin¬ 
der.’  Finally,  he  calls  them  children  of  hell,  serpents, 
a  brood  of  vipers,  and  asks  how  it  is  possible  for  them 
to  escape  damnation. 

Here,  then,  we  see  Christ  in  his  attitude  of  hostility. 
His  language  itself  is  not  wanting  in  energy,  and  it 
derived  double  emphasis  from  his  position.  In  his 
political  appearance  he  may  be  compared  to  the  Grac¬ 
chi.  As  they  assailed  a  close  and  selfish  ruling  order 
by  marshalling  the  people  against  it,  and  assuming 
that  peculiar  position  of  authorized  agitators  which  the 
Roman  constitution  offered  in  the  tribunate,  so  did 
Christ  assail  the  order  of  legalists.  The  old  Jewish 
constitution  recognized  the  claim  of  the  pi'ophet  to  a 
certain  authority.  One  who,  advancing  pretensions  to 
the  prophetic  character,  succeeded  in  producing  con- 
viclion,  so  that  by  a  kind  of  informal  but  irresistible 
plebiscitum  he  was  recognized  to  be  that  which  he 
professed  to  be,  was  thenceforward  regarded  as  a 
mov.'thpiece  of  the  Invisible  King,  and  held  an  indefi¬ 
nite  but  at  the  same  time  constitutional  authority  in 
the  land.  He  was  not  a  mere  influence ,  but,  as  it 
were,  a  magistrate,  and  almost,  iff  he  pleased,  a  die- 


296 


ECCE  HOMO. 


tator.  This  singular  institution  had,  it  is  true,  lain 
dormant  for  many  centuries,  not  that  the  Jews  had 
ceased  to  believe  in  prophets,  but  that  no  person  had 
succeeded  in  winning  the  ftlebiscitum  which  conferred 
the  prophetic  authority.  The  office  was  understood 
not  to  be  abolished  but  simply  to  be  in  abeyance.  It 
is  recorded  that  Judas  Maccabagus  when  he  purified 
the  temple  reserved  some  matters  until  a  prophet 
should  appear  to  give  directions  about  them.  The 
reign  of  the  prophets  had  now  begun  again.  John 
the  Baptist  had  received  that  universal  testimony  to 
his  divine  mission  which  the  legalists  themselves,  with 
all  their  contempt  for  the  4  cursed  ’  populace,  found  it 
impossible  to  resist.  To  his  authority  Christ  had  suc¬ 
ceeded.  When,  therefore,  he  assailed  the  dominant 
order,  he  did  so  as  a  magistrate,  and  his  act  was  a  po¬ 
litical  one.  His  power  was  less  defined,  but  it  was 
not  less  real  than  that  of  a  Roman  tribune  of  the  peo¬ 
ple,  and  in  extent  it  was  greater,  because  it  was  un¬ 
defined,  and  because  it  was  perpetual  and  personal, 
instead  of  being  delegated  for  the  term  of  a  year. 
Acknowledged  as  a  prophet,  and  making  no  conceal¬ 
ment  of  the  fact  that  he  regarded  himself  as  a  king, 
he  must  have  meant  his  denunciations  of  the  legal 
party  for  a  mortal  defiance.  They  were  the  final 
brimming  over  of  the  cup  of  indignation.  They  made 
all  reconciliation  between  him  and  them  impossible. 

Our  biographies  tell  us  that  he  early  foresaw  in  what 
tile  quarrel  would  end.  He  saw  that  he  was  driving 
his  opponents  to  that  point  that,  with  their  love  of 
power  and  position,  they  must  murder  him.  His  life 
had  been  tranquil ;  the  times  were  tranquil.  How 


THE  LAW  OF  RESENTMENT.  297 

easy  it  might  have  been  to  lead  a  useful  life,  teaching 
men  everywhere,  setting  an  example  of  high  aims  and 
thoughts,  leavening  gradually  the  nation  with  his  mo¬ 
rality  and  sanctity  !  How  easy  it  might  have  been  tc 
procure  for  himself  a  long  life,  which  would  have  been 
full  of  blessing  to  mankind,  and  up  to  the  end  to  see 
that  which  was  the  great  wish  of  the  Hebrew  patriot, 
;  peace  upon  Israel.’  What  prevented  this  happ}r  pros¬ 
pect  from  being  realized?  Surely,  we  may  think,  to 
avoid  bloodshed  and  shocking  crimes  a  Christian  would 
sacrifice  much.  What  prevented  the  prospect  from 
being  realized?  We  must  answer,  Christ  himself  pre» 
vented  it,  simply  because  he  would  not  restrain  his 
anger.  He  might  have  remained  silent  about  the  Phar¬ 
isees  ;  he  might  have  avoided  meeting  with  them  or 
talking  of  them  ;  he  might  at  least  have  qualified  the 
severity  of  his  reproofs.  None  of  these  things  would 
he  do  ;  he  gave  his  anger  way,  and  drove  his  oppo¬ 
nents  to  that  which  such  men  call  the  4  necessity  ’  of 
destroying  him. 

His  resentment  did  not  indeed  show  itself  in  action. 
He  did  not  arm  his  followers  against  them  ;  he  would 
not  probably,  had  he  been  placed  in  a  condition  to  do 
so,  have  done  to  them  what  Elijah  did  to  the  prophets 
of  Baal  at  the  brook  Kishon.  Yet  it  appears  that  the 
anger  he  felt  would  of  itself  have  carried  him  as  far 
as  this.  Setting  forth  in  a  parable  his  own  relation  to 
the  legalists,  and  describing  himself,  as  usual,  as  a 
king,  he  concluded  with  representing  the  king  as  say¬ 
ing,  4  And  as  for  those  mine  enemies  which  would  not 
that  I  should  reign  over  them,  bring  them  hither  and 
slay  them  before  me .’ 

13  * 


298 


ECCE  HOMO. 


In  this  profound  resentment  he  never  wavered.  It 
is  the  custom  to  say  that  Christ  died  forgiving  bis 
enemies.  True,  no  doubt,  it  is  that  he  held  the  for¬ 
giveness  of  private  enemies  to  be  among  the  first  of 
duties ;  and  he  did  forgive  the  personal  insults  and 
barbarities  that  were  practised  upon  him.  But  the 
legalists,  whose  crime  was  against  the  kingdom  of 
God,  the  nation,  and  mankind,  it  does  not  appear  that 
lie  ever  forgave.  The  words  of  forgiveness  uttered 
on  the  Cross  refer  simply  to  the  Roman  soldiers,  for 
whom  pardon  is  asked  expressly  on  the  ground  that 
they  do  not  understand  what  they  are  doing.  The 
words  may  even  contain  distinct  allusion  to  that 
other  class  of  criminals  who  did  know  what  they 
were  doing,  and  for  whom  therefore  the  same  prayer 
was  not  offered.  At  least  this  interpretation  suggests 
itself  to  one  who  endeavors  to  discover  from  the  ex¬ 
pressions  which  he  dropped  what  was  passing  in 
Christ’s  mind  during  the  period  of  his  sufferings.  For 
those  expressions  indicate  that  he  was  neither  thinking 
of  his  murderers  with  pity  and  forgiveness  nor  yet 
turning  his  mind  to  other  subjects,  but  that  he  was 
brooding  over  their  conduct  with  bitter  indignation. 
To  the  high  priest  he  replied  with  a  menace,  4  You 
shall  see  the  Son  of  Man  sitting  on  the  right  hand  of 
power.’  To  the  women  that  followed  weeping  as  he 
was  led  to  execution  he  said,  4  Weep  not  for  me,  but 
for  yourselves  and  your  children.  For  if  they  (the 
legalists)  do  thest  things  in  the  green  tree,  what  shall 
be  done  in  the  dry?’  And  to  Pilate  he  said  (drawing 
precisely  the  same  distinction  between  the  conduct  of 
the  Romans  and  that  of  the  Jews  which  we  conjecture 


THE  LAW  OF  RESENTMENT. 


299 

to  be  implied  in  the  words,  4  Father,  forgive  them,  for 
they  know  not  what  they  do’),  4  You  would  have  no 
authority  at  all  against  me,  were  it  not  given  you  from 
above :  therefore  he  who  delivers  me  to  you  has 
greater  sin ;  ’  meaning,  apparently,  4  I  should  not  be 
amenable  to  Roman  authority  at  all  but  for  that  provi¬ 
dential  appointment  which  has  placed  the  country  for 
the  time  in  foreign  hands ;  the  greater  is  the  treason 
of  him,  the  chief  priest,  who  hands  his  countryman 
over  to  a  foreign  magistrate.’  These  passages  seem  to 
show  that  if  no  forgiveness  of  his  real  murderers  was 
uttered  by  Christ,  it  was  not  by  chance,  but  because 
he  continued  to  the  last  to  think  of  them  with  anger. 

It  seemed  worth  while  to  discuss  this  subject  at  some 
length,  lest  it  should  be  supposed  that  Christianity  is 
really  the  emasculate,  sentimental  thing  it  is  some¬ 
times  represented  to  be.  Because  it  has  had  a  consid¬ 
erable  effect  in  softening  manners,  because  it  has  given 
a  new  prominence  and  dignity  to  the  female  sex,  and 
because  it  has  produced  great  examples  of  passive 
virtues,  Christianity  is  sometimes  represented  as  averse 
to  strong  passions,  as  making  men  excessively  unwill¬ 
ing  to  inflict  pain,  as  fostering  a  morbid  or  at  least  a 
feminine  tenderness.  War,  for  example,  and  capital 
punishment,  are  frequently  denounced  as  unchristicm , 
because  they  involve  circumstances  of  horror ;  and 
when  the  ardent  champions  of  some  great  cause  have 
declared  that  they  would  persevere  although  it  should 
be  necessary  to  lay  waste  a  continent  and  exterminate 
a  nation,  the  resolution  is  stigmatized  as  shocking  and 
unchristian.  Shocking  it  may  be,  but  not  therefore 
unchristian.  The  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity  does  in- 


3°° 


ECCE  HOMO. 


deed  destroy  a  great  deal  of  hatred,  but  it  creates  as 
much  more.  Selfish  hatred  is  indeed  chaimed  away, 
but  a  not  less  fiery  passion  takes  its  place.  Dull  ser¬ 
pentine  malice  dies,  but  a  new  unselfish  anger  begins 
to  live.  The  bitter  feelings  which  so  easily  spring  up 
against  those  who  thwart  us,  those  who  compete  with 
us,  those  who  surpass  us,  are  destroyed  by  the  Enthu¬ 
siasm  of  Humanity ;  but  it  creates  a  new  bitterness 
which  displays  itself  on  occasions  where  before  the 
mind  had  reposed  in  a  benevolent  calm.  It  creates 
an  intolerant  anger  against  all  who  do  wrong  to  human 
beings,  an  impatience  of  selfish  enjoyment,  a  vindictive 
enmity  to  tyrants  and  oppressors,  a  bitterness  against 
sophistry,  superstition,  self-complacent  heartless  spec¬ 
ulation,  an  irreconcilable  hostility  to  every  form  of  im¬ 
posture,  such  as  the  uninspired,  inhumane  soul  could 
never  entertain.  And  though  Christ  so  understood 
his  own  special  mission  as  to  refrain  from  all  acts  of 
hostility  or  severity  towards  human  beings,  yet,  in  the 
Christian  view  which  connects  acts  so  closely  with 
instinctive  impulses,  an  act  must  be  right  which  is 
dictated  by  a  right  impulse,  and  there  will  be  cases 
when  the  Christian  will  hold  it  his  duty  to  inflict 
pain. 

What  is  called  the  Middle  Age  may  be  described  as 
the  period  of  Christian  barbarism  ;  that  is,  it  was  the 
time  when  genuine  Christian  impulses  were  combined 
with  the  greatest  intellectual  rudeness.  But  as  im¬ 
pulse  is  commonly  strong  where  intellect  is  dormant, 
we  may  note  the  working  of  Christian  feeling  more 
easily  in  the  Middle  Age  than  in  the  Modern  Time* 
Now  it  is  in  the  Middle  Age  that  we  meet  with 


THE  LAW  OF  RESENTMENT  3OI 

wars  of  religion,  and  with  capital  punishments  for 
speculative  error.  Intellectually  considered  both  were 
frightful  mistakes.  The  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity, 
enlightened  by  a  complete  view  of  the  facts,  would  not 
have  dictated  either.  But  it  was  the  want  of  enlight¬ 
enment,  not  the  want  of  Christian  humanity,  that 
made  it  possible  for  men  to  commit  these  mistakes. 
Those  Syrian  battle-fields  where  so  many  Crusaders 
committed  ‘  their  pure  souls  unto  their  Captain,  Christ  ;* 
the  image  of  Christ’s  death  turned  into  an  ensign  of 
battle  ;  the  chalice  of  the  Last  Supper  giving  its  name 
to  an  army ;  these  things  may  shock,  more  or  less, 
our  good  sense,  but  they  do  not  shock,  they  rather 
refresh  and  delight,  our  humanity.  These  warriors 
wanted  Christ’s  wisdom,  but  they  had  his  spirit,  his 
divine  anger,  his  zeal  for  the  franchises  of  the  soul. 
Our  good  sense  may  be  shocked  still  more  when  we 
think  of  the  auto  da  fe.  We  may  well  exclaim  upon 
the  folly  of  those  who  could  dream  of  curing  intel¬ 
lectual  error  by  intellectual  bondage.  Our  humanity 
itself  may  be  shocked  by  the  greater  number  of  these 
deeds  of  faith.  We  may  say  of  the  perpetrators  of 
them,  These  are  they  that  kill  the  prophets  ;  their  zeal 
for  truth  is  feigned ;  they  are  the  slaves  of  spiritual 
pride.  But  if  you  could  be  sure  that  it  was  not  the 
prophet  but  the  pernicious  sophist  that  burned  in  the 
fire,  and  if  by  reducing  his  too  busy  brain  to  safe  and 
orthodox  ashes  you  could  destroy  his  sophistries  and 
create  in  other  minds  a  wholesome  fear  of  sophistry, 
without  creating  at  the  same  time  an  unwholesome 
dtead  of  intellectual  activity  and  freedom,  then  Chris¬ 
tian  humanity  might  look  with  some  satisfaction  even 


3°3 


ECCE  HOMO. 


on  an  auto  da  fe.  At  any  rate,  the  ostensible  object 
of  such  horrors  was  Christian,  and  the  indignation 
which  professedly  prompts  them  is  also  Christian,  and 
the  assumption  they  involve,  that  agonies  of  pain  and 
blood  shed  in  rivers  are  less  evils  than  the  soul  spotted 
and  bewildered  with  sin,  is  most  Christian. 


303 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS. 

WE  have  now  considered  the  Christian  character 
in  many  of  its  aspects.  We  have  seen  that  the 
Christian  is  one  whose  steps  are  guided  by  an  enthu¬ 
siasm  that  never  leaves  him  and  that  does  not  allow 
him  to  doubt  what  he  ought  to  do.  We  have  seen 
that  this  enthusiasm  is  that  love  of  man  in  the  ideal  of 
man,  which  in  a  low  degree  is  natural  to  all,  made 
powerful  and  ardent  by  a  clearer  knowledge  of  the 
ideal  in  Christ  and  by  a  sense  of  personal  relation  to 
Christ.  We  have  seen  that  the  operation  of  this  en¬ 
thusiasm  is  to  make  morality  positive  instead  of  neg¬ 
ative,  a  constant  endeavor  to  serve  mankind  instead 
of  an  endeavor  to  avoid  injuring  them.  We  have  con¬ 
sidered  some  of  the  principal  kinds  of  service  to  man¬ 
kind  which  it  dictates.  Of  these  the  first  was  philan¬ 
thropy,  or  an  attention  to  their  physical  wants  and 
happiness.  The  second  was  edification,  or  attention 
to  their  moral  improvement.  And  when  engaged  in 
this  latter  duty  we  found  the  enthusiasm  assuming 
two  special  aspects  in  relation  to  two  peculiar  classes 
of  men.  In  the  presence  of  immorality  disguised  and 
prosperous  it  exhibited  itself  in  prophetic  indignation, 
intolerant  aggressive  zeal,  vehement  reproof.  On  the 
other  hand,  in  dealing  with  immorality  punished,  1 
pudiated.  and  outcast,  it  appeared  as  Mercy. 


3°4 


ECCE  HOMO. 


The  picture  of  the  Christian  in  his  active  relations 
to  society  is  complete.  So  far  as  society  is  the  passive 
object  of  his  cares,  it  is  in  this  way  that  he  will  deal 
with  it.  But  cases  arise  in  which  the  initiative  is  not 
in  his  hands.  It  is  important  to  know  not  merely 
how  he  will  treat  others,  but  also  how  he  will  receive 
others’  treatment  of  himself.  So  long  as  this  treat¬ 
ment  is  good  and  benevolent,  the  Enthusiasm  of  Hu¬ 
manity  will  but  make  natural  gratitude  more  lively. 
But  when  it  is  injurious  how  will  the  Christian  deal 
with  it? 

Now  it  was  on  the  treatment  of  injuries  that  Christ 
delivered  the  third  of  those  special  commands  of  which 
mention  has  been  made.  The  famous  sentences  of 
the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  which  refer  to  this  subject 
will  at  once  occur  to  the  reader,  but  there  is  another 
precept  which  it  is  important  to  bear  in  mind  at  the 
same  time.  In  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  he  bids  his 
followers  bear  with  absolute  passive  tolerance  the 
most  contumelious  injuries.  4  If  a  man  smite  thee  on 
the  one  cheek,  turn  to  him  the  other  also,’  &c.  But 
the  other  precept  is  different :  4  If  thy  brother  trespass 
against  thee,  rebuke  him,  and  if  he  repent  forgive 
him.’  Now  the  difference  between  these  two  precepts 
is  not  slight  but  substantial.  The  first  distinctly  for¬ 
bids  resenting  an  injury,  the  second  as  distinctly  com¬ 
mands  it.  The  expression,  4  Turn  to  him  the  other 
also,’  in  the  first  is  evidently  selected  with  care  to 
convey  an  extreme  degree  of  uncomplaining  submis¬ 
sion.  It  is  the  direct  opposite  of  the  phrase.  4  Rebuke 
him,’  which  occurs  in  the  other  precept.  And  that 
by  4  Rebuke  him,’  Christ  did  not  mean  a  faint  expos- 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS.  305 

tulation,  appears  from  what  follows.  For  he  adds: 
‘  If  your  brother  will  not  hear  you,  bring  it  before  the 
church ;  and  if  he  refuse  to  hear  the  church,  let  him 
be  to  you  as  a  heathen  man  or  a  publican ;  ’  in  other 
words,  let  him  be  expelled  from  the  Christian  society 
The  two  precepts,  therefore,  differ  essentially  and  can¬ 
not  be  obeyed  together.  If  you  adopt  the  course  pre¬ 
scribed  in  the  one  you  must  deviate  from  that  prescribed 
in  the  other. 

Nevertheless  the  two  precepts  do  not  necessarily 
contradict  each  other.  Christ  may  mean  to  distin¬ 
guish  two  kinds  of  injuries,  the  one  of  which  is  to  be 
resented  and  the  other  to  be  suffered  passively.  Or 
he  may  mean  to  distinguish  two  classes  of  men  com¬ 
mitting  injuries.  Whether  either  of  these  two  suppo¬ 
sitions  be  true,  and,  if  so,  which,  will  be  considered 
farther  on.  In  the  mean  while  it  is  to  be  noted  that  in 
one  respect  the  two  precepts  agree ;  in  other  words, 
that  from  these  two  commands  of  Christ  a  general 
Christian  law  in  reference  to  injuries  may  be  gathered. 
For  in  both  precepts  it  is  implied  that  every  injury 
that  can  be  committed  is  to  be  forgiven  on  certain 
conditions.  In  the  one  case  we  are  told  that  injuries 
are  to  excite  in  our  minds  no  resentment  at  all,  that 
curses  are  to  be  requited  with  blessings,  and  persecu¬ 
tion  with  prayers ;  in  the  other  case  we  are  indeed 
commanded  to  resent  the  injury,  but  at  the  same  time 
we  are  commanded  to  accept  in  all  cases  the  repent¬ 
ance  of  the  offender. 

Now  this  law  that  all  injuries  whatever  are  to  be 
forgiven  on  certain  conditions  divides  itself,  when  we 
consider  it,  into  two.  For  it  is  necessary  to  examine 


3o6 


ECCE  HOMO. 


separately  the  maxim  that  we  are  to  be  prepared,  as  a 
general  rule,  to  forgive  injuries,  and  the  maxim  that 
there  is  no  injury  so  deadly  but  that  it  comes  under 
this  general  rule.  Let  us  begin,  therefore,  by  examin¬ 
ing  the  maxim  that  injuries  as  a  general  rule  are  to  be 
forgiven  on  certain  conditions. 

It  has  already  been  remarked  as  a  characteristic  of 
Christianity  that,  while  it  excites  an  intense  disappro¬ 
bation  of  wrong-doing,  it  nevertheless  regards  wrong¬ 
doing  as  venial.  Criminals  that  have  been  regarded 
under  much  laxer  systems  with  unmixed  hatred  be¬ 
came  under  Christianity  objects  of  pity.  But  it  does 
not  immediately  follow  that  the  injured  party  himself 
would  be  required  to  regard  his  injurer  in  that  light. 
The  relation  of  the  injured  party  to  the  criminal  is 
peculiar ;  his  feelings  are  different  from  those  of  the 
bystander  who  has  suffered  nothing  by  the  crime  ;  and 
the  Enthusiasm,  though  it  moves  the  bystander  to 
mercy,  may  very  possibly  produce  a  different  effect 
upon  him.  In  order  to  discover  whether  it  does  so  or 
not  it  is  necessary  to  inquire  in  what  respect  the  natu¬ 
ral  feeling  of  the  injured  party  himself  towards  the 
criminal  differs  from  that  of  the  bystander.  Now  the 
feeling  of  the  bystander  or  disinterested  person  to¬ 
wards  crime  was  examined  in  an  earlier  part  of  this 
treatise.  It  was  there  shown  that  in  uncivilized  times 
the  feeling  was  pure  indifference,  but  that  as  men 
advanced  in  moral  culture  they  acquired  a  sympathy 
with  one  another.  This  sympathy  produced  the  effect 
that  whenever  a  given  person  was  disturbed  by  any  emo¬ 
tions,  the  bystander  who  observed  him  became  affected 
by  similar  emotions.  Such  sympathetic  emotions  were 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS. 


307 


always  less  powerful  than  the  original  ones,  but  they 
were  stronger  in  proportion  to  the  strength  of  the  sym¬ 
pathy  out  of  which  they  grew.  The  resentment  which 
a  man  feels  at  crime  from  which  he  does  not  personally 
suffer  is  of  this  sympathetic  kind.  It  is  a  reflection 
from  the  resentment  felt  by  the  injured  party  himself. 
Now  we  have  seen  that  this  sympathetic  resentment  is 
modified  and  made  less  pitiless  by  Christianity,  and 
the  question  is,  could  this  happen  and  yet  the  same 
effect  not  be  produced  by  the  same  agent  upon  the 
orig'nal  resentment?  Plainly  there  is  one  way  and 
only  one  way  in  which  this  might  be.  If  Christianity 
mitigates  sympathetic  resentment  by  diminishing  the 
sympathy  which  is  one  of  its  factors,  then  the  mitiga¬ 
tion  will  not  extend  to  that  resentment  which  is  inde¬ 
pendent  of  sympathy.  But  we  know  that,  so  far  from 
this,  sympathy  is  vastly  increased  by  the  Christian 
enthusiasm.  It  follows  that  sympathetic  resentment 
would  be  vastly  increased  at  the  same  time,  if  Chris¬ 
tianity  did  not  also  operate,  and  in  a  still  greater  de¬ 
gree,  to  soften  the  resentment  itself.  But  if  it  operates 
upon  the  resentment  itself,  it  will  do  so  in  the  injured 
party  who  is  animated  by  that  alone  as  well  as  in  the 
bystander,  and  therefore  Christianity  which  enjoins 
mercy  to  criminals  must  at  the  same  time  enjoin  for¬ 
giveness  of  personal  injuries. 

But  no  such  indirect  argument  is  required  to  show 
that  Christianity  must  needs  tend  to  diminish  the  sense 
of  personal  injury.  We  know  that  it  is  easier  to  for¬ 
give  injuries  to  those  whom  we  love,  whether  the  love 
we  feel  be  that  love  which  is  grounded  on  admiration, 
or  that  which  arises  out  of  the  sense  of  relationship. 


ECCE  HOMO. 


3°s 

Now  Christianity  creates  for  all  mankind  a  sentiment 
which,  though  not  identical  with  either  of  these,  yet 
bears  a  considerable  resemblance  to  them,  and  can 
hardly  fail  to  operate  in  the  same  way.  We  may  be 
sure  also  that  revenge  diminishes  in  proportion  as  we 
gain  the  power  of  going  out  of  ourselves  and  of  con* 
ceiving  and  realizing  interests  and  rights  not  our  own. 
Revenge  is  the  monomania  of  the  isolated  and  unsym¬ 
pathizing  heart  which  intensely  grasps  the  notion  of 
personal  right  and  property  but  for  itself  alone,  and 
for  which  there  is  but  one  being  and  one  self  in  the 
universe.  It  cannot  therefore  but  be  diminished  by 
an  enthusiasm  which  creates  a  moral  universe  for  the 
soul  where  before  there  was  darkness,  which  forces  it 
to  relax  its  stiff  and  crabbed  tenacity  by  enlarging  its 
sphere,  which  gives  it  the  softness  which  comes  with 
warmth,  which  educates  it  in  the  wisdom  of  sympathy 
and  the  calmness  of  wisdom. 

But  now  what  is  to  be  the  limit  of  forgiveness?  It 
would  probably  have  been  allowed  by  many  of  the 
ancients  that  an  unforgiving  temper  was  not  to  be 
commended.  They  would  have  said,  We  are  not  to 
exact  a  penalty  for  every  nice  offence  ;  we  are  to  over¬ 
look  some  things  ;  we  are  to  be  blind  sometimes.  But 
they  would  have  said  at  the  same  time,  We  must  be 
careful  to  keep  our  self-respect,  and  to  be  on  a  level 
with  the  world.  On  the  whole,  they  would  have  said, 
It  is  the  part  of  a  man  fully  to  requite  to  his  friends 
their  benefits  and  to  his  enemies  their  injuries.  Christ, 
no  doubt,  bids  men  be  more  generous  than  this,  be 
less  meanly  solicitous  about  their  personal  rights  ,  but 
where  does  he  place  the  limit?  what  is  the  injury  fo* 
which  we  are  to  take  no  apology? 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS.  309 

Christ  said,  4  If  thy  brother  trespass  against  thee 
seven  times  a  day,  and  seven  times  a  day  turn  again 
to  thee  saying,  I  repent,  thou  shalt  forgive  him.’  Prob¬ 
ably  no  reader  of  this  passage  would  doubt  that  it 
means  absolutely  to  take  away  all  limitations  of  for¬ 
giveness,  and  to  proclaim  that  there  is  no  injury,  how¬ 
ever  deadly,  or  however  frequently  repeated,  which 
the  Christian  is  not  to  forgive  upon  submission  made. 
But  to  make  this  doubly  sure  it  is  recorded  that  Peter 
put  the  question  directly  to  him,  whether  the  seventh 
time  was  literally  to  be  taken  as  a  limit.  The  in¬ 
quiry,  it  is  worth  while  to  remark  by  the  way,  throws 
a  strong  light  upon  the  character  of  the  followers 
whom  Christ  had  gathered  round  him.  4  Lord,  how 
often  shall  my  brother  offend  against  me  and  I  forgive 
him?  Until  seven  times?’  There  breathes,  in  the 
first  place,  through  this  question  a  singular  earnest¬ 
ness.  The  use  of  the  first  person  seems  to  show  that 
Peter  was  not  considering  the  problem  as  part  of  the 
theory  of  morals.  He  does  not  speak  in  the  tone  of 
Socrates’  disciples.  But  he  seems  to  be  intently  con¬ 
sidering  how  Christ’s  principle  of  forgiveness  can 
practically  be  worked.  Pie  speaks  as  though  he  had 
himself  suffered  an  injury  and  had  succeeded  more 
than  once  in  forgiving  it,  and  now  came  to  his  Master 
to  know  how  long  the  trial  was  to  last.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  question  shows  a  singular  want  of  the 
power  or  habit  of  generalizing.  It  is  the  question  of 
one  who  has  never  been  accustomed  to  think,  but  who 
guides  himself  by  precepts  or  texts  learned  by  rote. 
He  thinks  it  presumption  to  try  to  understand  his 
Master  s  teaching,  and  accordingly  he  inevitably  mi&* 


3io 


ECCE  HOMO. 


understands  it.  What  was  delivered  as  a  principle  he 
instantly  degrades  into  a  rule.  He  has  no  power  of 
distinguishing  the  form  of  the  precept  from  the  sub¬ 
stance  ;  and  therefore  being  commanded  to  forgive  an 
offending  brother  even  if  he  should  commit  seven  in¬ 
juries.  he  proceeds  at  once  to  inquire  how  he  should 
deal  with  the  eighth.  No  turn  of  expression  could 
.more  nicely  indicate  the  process  by  which  those  high 
moralities  which  are  the  life  of  the  world  are  converted 
into  the  conventionalities  which  are  its  bane.  It  is 
also  worthy  of  remark  that  Christ  in  his  reply  refuses 
to  abandon  the  figurative  mode  of  expression.  He 
vindicates,  as  it  were,  his  right  to  use  these  forms  of 
language,  and  insists  that  his  followers  shall  learn  to 

understand  them,  but  at  the  same  time  he  alters  the 

/ 

figure  so  far  as  to  remove  the  particular  misunder¬ 
standing  into  which  Peter  had  fallen.  He  replied.  ‘  I 
solemnly  declare  to  you,  not  until  seven  times,  but 
until  seventy  times  seven.’ 

Here  then  is  the  prohibition  of  all  mortal  feuds 
Irreconcilable  enmities  are  henceforth  forbidden  to 
human  beings.  Mercy  to  a  submissive  foe  is  to  be  no 
longer  an  exceptional  and  admirable  reach  of  human 
goodness,  but  a  plain  duty.  There  may  be  again  con¬ 
tentions  upon  the  earth,  wars  between  state  and  state, 
feuds  between  family  and  family,  quarrels  between 
man  and  man,  but  the  war  4  without  treaty  and  with¬ 
out  herald  ’  is  in  the  modern  world,  what  it  was  not 
in  the  ancient,  immoral.  Human  beings  have  hence¬ 
forth  in  all  cases  a  right  to  terms,  a  right  to  quarter. 
However  they  may  trample  upon  the  rights  of  others, 
they  cannot  trample  upon  their  own ;  however  thev 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS.  3II 

may  repudiate  all  human  obligations,  they  cannot  can¬ 
cel,  though  they  may  change  and  modify,  the  obliga¬ 
tions  of  others  to  them. 

This  is  Christ’s  most  striking  innovation  in  morality. 
It  has  produced  so  much  impression  upon  mankind 
that  it  is  commonly  regarded  as  the  whole  or  at  least 
the  fundamental  part  of  the  Christian  moral  system. 
When  a  Christian  spirit  is  spoken  of,  it  may  be  re¬ 
marked  that  a  forgiving  spirit  is  usually  meant.  But 
there  is  much  more  in  the  Christian  system  than  the 
doctrine  of  forgiveness,  nor  does  its  importance  in  that 
system  consist  in  its  being  the  fundamental  part  upon 
which  the  other  parts  depend,  for  it  is  not  this  in  any 
sense.  Its  importance  lies  simply  in  its  being  the  most 
distinctive  feature  in  the  system,  and  in  its  characteriz¬ 
ing  Christian  morality  more  than  any  other  doctrine  of 
it.  The  other  laws  which  have  been  considered,  the 
law  of  philanthropy,  the  law  of  edification,  the  law  of 
mercy  and  of  moral  resentment,  though  Christianity 
gave  a  new  importance  to  them,  cannot  be  called 
peculiar  to  Christianity.  They  were  all  in  some  de¬ 
gree  recognized  in  heathen  moralities,  and  though  the 
originality  of  Christianity  in  respect  to  them  is  very 
real,  yet  it  does  not  at  once  strike  the  eye  and  is  not 
easy  to  make  clear.  But  in  the  law  of  forgiveness,  and 
still  more  in  the  law  of  unlimited  forgiveness,  a  star¬ 
tling  shock  was  given  to  the  prevailing  beliefs  and 
notions  of  mankind.  And  by  this  law  an  ineffaceable 
and  palpable  division  has  been  made  between  ancient 
and  modern  morality.  The  other  Christian  virtues 
were  in  a  degree  familiar  to  the  heathen  world ;  that 
is  to  say,  they  had  often  been  witnessed  and  when 


312 


ECCE  HOMO. 


witnessed  they  had  always  excited  admiration.  As 
duties  they  had  never  been  recognized,  but  they  had 
been  known  as  the  exceptional  characteristics  of  men 
of  rare  virtue.  Now  of  forgiveness  we  cannot  certainly 
say  that  it  was  unknown  to  the  ancients  ;  under  certain 
conditions,  no  doubt,  it  was  very  common  among  them. 
In  domestic  and  family  life,  in  which  all  the  germs  of 
Christian  virtue  are  to  be  found,  it  was  undoubtedly 
common.  Undoubtedly  friends  fell  out  and  were 
reconciled  in  antiquity  as  amongst  ourselves.  But 
where  the  only  relation  between  the  two  parties  was 
that  of  injurer  and  injured,  and  the  only  claim  of  the 
offender  to  forgiveness  was  that  he  was  a  human  be¬ 
ing,  there  forgiveness  seems  not  only  not  to  have  been 
practised,  but  not  to  have  been  enjoined  nor  approved. 
People  not  only  did  not  forgive  their  enemies,  but  did 
not  wish  to  do  so,  nor  think  better  of  themselves  for 
having  done  so.  That  man  considered  himself  for¬ 
tunate  who  on  his  deathbed  could  say,  in  reviewing 
his  past  life,  that  no  one  had  done  more  good  to  his 
friends  or  more  mischief  to  his  enemies.  This  was  the 
celebrated  felicity  of  Sulla  ;  this  is  the  crown  of  Xeno¬ 
phon’s  panegyric  on  Cyrus  the  Younger.  No  one  in 
antiquity  was  more  capable  of  amiable  feelings  than 
Cicero.  Yet  so  much  could  he  gloat  over  the  mis¬ 
fortunes  of  an  enemy,  that  in  the  second  year  after  the 
death  of  Clodius  he  dates  a  letter  the  560th  day  after 
the  battle  of  Bovillae —  that  is,  the  fray  in  which 
Clodius  was  killed.  This  is  to  be  noted  not  merely 
as  an  indication  of  the  feeling  which  Cicero  could 
cherish,  but  of  the  state  of  public  opinion  which  could 
permit  him,  without  any  sense  of  degradation,  to  dis- 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS.  313 

play  the  feeling  to  a  friend.  Still  more  striking  is  an 
example  which  may  be  drawn  from  the  life  of  Julius 
<  kesar.  He  is  eminent  in  antiquity  as  one  who  knew 
1  iow  to  forgive.  It  is  much  to  his  credit  that  his  exe¬ 
dition  of  Vercingetorix  on  the  occasion  of  his  fourfold 
liiumph  has  always  been  considered  a  blemish  upon 
his  career.  The  execution  of  the  conquered  general 
7/ us  a  regular  and  important  part  of  the  triumphal 
ceremony ;  there  could  be  no  reason,  except  Caesar’s 
extraordinary  clemency,  to  expect  that  it  would  be 
omitted  on  this  occasion.  And  yet  the  expectation 
was  general.*  Why  did  he  disappoint  it?  There 
was  everything  to  incline  his  mind  to  generosity. 
Six  years  had  passed  since  Vercingetorix  had  been  his 
enemy,  six  years  full  of  success  and  glory.  Vercinget¬ 
orix  had  been  a  chivalrous  enemy,  and  his  surrender 
had  been  made  in  a  manner  specially  calculated  to 
affect  the  feelings  of  his  conqueror.  Cassar  had  par¬ 
doned  multitudes  of  those  who  had  injured  him,  of 
those  who  hated  him  mortally ;  why  could  he  not 
pardon  one  whose  only  crime  was  that  he  had  de¬ 
fended  the  independence  of  his  country  against  him? 
Caesar  had  pardoned  many  whom  it  might  have  been 
expedient  to  destroy ;  why  could  he  not  pardon  one 
by  whose  death  he  gained  nothing,  and  by  whose 
forgiveness  he  would  have  conciliated  a  nation?  The 
answer  seems  to  be  that  on  those  days  of  triumph 
Cxsar  gave  himself  up  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  success, 
that  he  was  determined  to  drain  to  the  dregs  the 
whole  intoxicating  cup,  and  that  even  he  could  not 

*  See  Dio  Cassius,  xl.  41. 


ECCE  HOMO. 


3M 

conceive  of  happiness  as  perfect  unless  it  were  flavored 
with  revenge,  or  victory  as  complete  while  his  enemy 
breathed.  The  one  man  who  knew  something  of  the 
pleasures  of  generosity  was  yet  carried  away  by  the 
universal  opinion  about  the  sweetness  of  vengeance, 
and  could  imagine  no  triumph  but  such  as  those  we 
see  represented  in  Egyptian  bass-reliefs,  where  the  vic¬ 
tor’s  foot  is  planted  on  the  necks  of  his  captives,  or 
that  we  read  of  in  the  life  of  the  pupil  of  Aristotle, 
who  actually  dragged  the  living  body  of  one  of  the 
most  heroic  of  his  enemies  at  the  tail  of  his  chariot. 

The  Roman  Triumph  with  its  naked  ostentation  of 
revenge  fairly  represents  the  common  feeling  of  the 
ancients.  Nevertheless,  forgiveness  even  of  an  enemy 
was  not  unknown  to  them.  They  could  conceive  it, 
and  they  could  feel  that  there  was  a  divine  beauty  in 
it,  but  it  seemed  to  them  not  merely,  like  the  other 
Christian  virtues,  more  than  could  be  expected  of  ordi¬ 
nary  men,  but  almost  more  than  could  be  expected  of 
human  nature  itself,  almost  superhuman.  A  passage 
near  the  close  of  the  Ajax  of  Sophocles  will  illustrate 
this.  As  there  was  nothing  of  the  antiquarian  spirit 
about  Greek  tragedy,  as  it  probably  never  occurred  to 
Sophocles  that  the  ancient  heroes  he  depicts  belonged 
to  a  less  civilized  age  than  his  own,  but,  on  the  con¬ 
trary,  as  he  conceived  them  to  be  better  and  nobler 
than  his  contemporaries,  we  may  fairly  suppose  the 
feelings  described  in  this  passage  to  be  of  the  highest 
standard  of  the  poet’s  own  age,  the  age  of  Pericles. 
Ulysses,  after  the  death  of  his  enemy  Ajax,  is  de¬ 
scribed  as  relenting  towards  him  so  far  as  to  intercede 
with  Agamemnon  that  his  body  may  be  decently 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS. 


3*5 


bulled,  and  not  be  exposed  to  the  beasts  and  birds. 
This  may  seem  to  be  no  great  stretch  of  generosity. 
But  the  request  is  received  by  Agamemnon  with  the 
utmost  bewilderment  and  annoyance.  4  What  can  you 
mean?’  he  says, 4  do  you  feel  ■pity  for  a  dead  enemy?' 
On  the  other  hand,  the  friends  of  Ajax  are  not  less  as¬ 
tonished,  and  break  out  into  rapturous  applause, 4  but/ 
says  Teucer,  4 1  hesitate  to  allow  you  to  touch  the 
grave,  lest  it  should  be  disagreeable  to  the  dead  man.* 
The  impression  of  strangeness  which  these  words, 
Do  you  feel  pity  for  a  dead  enemy?  produce  upon 
us  is  a  proof  of  the  change  which  Christianity  has 
wrought  in  manners.  A  modem  dramatist  might 
have  written  the  words,  if  he  had  been  delineating  an 
extremely  savage  character,  but  Sophocles  is  doing  no 
such  thing.  He  is  expressing  the  natural  sentiment 
of  an  average  man.  A  modern  poet,  endeavoring  to 
do  the  same  thing,  hits  upon  a  precisely  opposite  senti¬ 
ment  :  — 

Sirs,  pass  we  on, 

And  let  the  bodies  follow  us  on  biers. 

Wolf  of  the  weald  and  yellow-footed  kite, 

Enough  is  spread  for  you  of  meaner  prey. 

And  that  the  change  of  feeling  indicated  by  this  differ¬ 
ence  of  language  has  really  taken  place  is  not  to  be 
disproved  by  special  instances  of  atrocious  malignity, 
however  numerous,  which  may  be  quoted  from  mod¬ 
ern  history,  nor  yet  by  the  fact  that  the  duel  is  a  pecu¬ 
liarly  modern  institution.  That  there  have  been  and 
are  revengeful  men  proves  nothing,  but  it  proves  much 
that  such  characters  are  now  remarked  as  exceptions 
and  excite  always  dislike,  in  extreme  cases  horror  and 


31 6 


ECCE  HOMO. 


disgust.  In  antiquity  they  were,  as  a  rule,  not  disap¬ 
proved,  but  in  the  extreme  case  they  incurred  censure 
of  the  same  gentle  kind  as  we  pass  on  those  who  push 
any  good  or  natural  feeling  to  extravagance.  The  duel 
is,  no  doubt,  at  first  sight  a  startling  phenomenon.  It 
seems  bold  to  assert  that  the  moderns  are  more  forgiv¬ 
ing  than  the  i  ncients,  when  it  is  certain  that  in  anti¬ 
quity  the  grossest  personal  insults  were  constantly 
overlooked,  and  that  we  find  a  Cicero  holding  amica¬ 
ble  intercourse  with  men  whom  he  had  assailed  in 
public  with  venomous  personal  abuse,  whereas  fifty 
years  ago  a  man  was  held  disgraced  who  did  not  wash 
out  an  insult  in  blood.  When  we  remember  this  it 
may  seem  more  correct  to  say  that  the  modern  spirit 
has  consecrated  revenge  and  made  it  into  a  duty,  than 
to  say  that  it  has  adopted  Christ’s  law  of  forgiveness. 

And,  indeed,  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that  the  duel  is 
an  example  of  the  failure  of  Christianity.  It  is  a  bar¬ 
baric  usage,  which  may  be  traced  distinctly  to  a  bar¬ 
baric  origin,  and  which  is  entirely  opposed  to  Christ’s 
law.  Assuredly  if  a  Paul  or  a  John  could  have  wit¬ 
nessed  two  Christians  facing  each  other  with  loaded 
pistols  to  avenge  a  hasty  word,  they  would  have  called 
for  the  crack  of  doom  to  end  all.  And  yet  it  is  a  usage 
which  prevailed  through  all  Christian  countries  at  a 
very  recent  period.  Barbarism  in  this  instance  pre¬ 
vailed  signally  over  Christian  influences.  Further,  it 
is  not  to  be  denied  that  the  spirit  of  revenge  entered 
into  this  usage.  Nevertheless  if  we  compare  in  our 
imaginations  the  duellist  of  modern  times  with  the 
Agamemnon  of  Sophocles  insulting  the  corpse  of  hi& 
dead  enemy,  or  with  the  Ajax  of  the  same  pu'y  tortur 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS.  317 

mg  in  his  tent  the  ram  he  supposes  to  be  Ulysses,  we 
shall  perceive  a  vast  difference  between  the  two,  and 
shall  remain  convinced,  in  spite  cf  all  adverse  appear¬ 
ances,  that  the  spirit  of  revenge,  if  not  expelled  from 
human  life,  has  been  at  least  dethroned  and  fettered  by 
Christ.  The  revenge  described  by  Sophocles  is  un- 
mixed  hatred  and  spite.  It  delights  in  mischief  as 
mischief ;  it  is  intent  upon  its  prey  as  a  vulture  upon 
a  carcass ;  it  feasts  upon  the  misery  of  its  object  as 
upon  delicious  food.  The  feelings  of  the  duellist  may 
in  exceptional  cases  have  been  similar,  but  in  ordinary 
cases  they  were  totally  different.  And  it  was  only  be¬ 
cause  they  were  assumed  to  be  totally  different  that  the 
usage  was  approved  by  society.  Into  these  feelings 
revenge  scarcely  entered  at  all.  Often,  instead  of 
wishing  the  destruction  of  his  enemy,  he  rather  desired 
him  to  escape.  Even  if  the  enmity  was  mortal,  at 
least  he  only  wished  for  his  destruction,  not  that  he 
might  suffer  as  much  misery  as  possible.  What  he 
desired  principally  was  first  to  show  that  he  possessed 
the  courage  to  expose  himself  to  danger,  next,  to  show 
that  he  possessed  that  sense  of  personal  dignity  which 
could  not  put  up  with  insult,  and  that  resolution  which 
might  save  him  from  the  risk  of  insult  in  future.  And 
it:  was  for  the  sense  of  personal  honor  which  it  was 
supposed  to  keep  alive  in  men,  and  for  the  value  which 
it  gave  to  courage,  that  the  duel  was  long  maintained 
and  defended  by  society.  The  usage,  then,  was  not  a 
consecration  of  revenge,  but  of  the  principle  of  self- 
respect.  Doubtless  public  opinion  approved  also  of  a 
moderate  gratification  of  revenge,  but  assuredly  a  re¬ 
morseless  spirit  was  no  more  approved  01  admired  by 


3l8 


ECCE  HOMO. 


those  who  approved  of  duels  than  by  others,  and  was 
only  even  excused  in  the  case  of  an  extreme  and  intol¬ 
erable  injury. 

We  may  therefore  maintain  that  the  general  princi¬ 
ple  of  the  forgiveness  of  injuries,  as  announced  by 
Christ,  has  been  accepted  by  the  world,  has  become 
part  of  morality,  and  has  made  a  great  and  perceptible 
difference  in  the  average  of  human  characters.  The 
principle  of  unlimited  forgiveness,  even  on  condition 
of  repentance,  remains,  no  doubt,  to  a  certain  extent  a 
stumbling-block.  Few  of  us  even  profess  that  there 
are  no  injuries  which  we  are  not  prepared  to  forgive  ; 
probably  few  of  us  wish  to  have  the  forgiving  spirit  in 
this  perfection.  It  is  not  merely  that  such  unlimited 
forgiveness  is  almost  impossible  to  practise ;  men  do 
not  merely  regard  it  as  an  unattainable  virtue,  but 
they  deny  it  to  be  a  virtue  at  all.  Not  under  the  influ¬ 
ence  of  strong  passion,  but  deliberately,  they  regard  it 
as  a  mark  of  servility  and  suspect  it  of  being  insepara¬ 
ble  from  creeping  vices.  Modern  literature  is  full  of 
the  evidences  of  this  feeling.  Shakspeare  says,  — 

Swear  priests,  and  cowards,  and  men  cautelous, 

Old  feeble  carrions,  and  such  suffering  souls 
That  welcome  wrongs  ;  unto  bad  causes  swear 
Such  creatures  as  men  doubt ; 

and  a  modem  novelist  makes  one  of  his  characters  say, 
‘  There  are  some  wrongs  that  no  one  ought  to  forgive, 
and  I  shall  be  a  villain  on  the  day  I  shake  that  man’s 
hand.’  It  is  therefore  a  plausible  opinion  that  man. 
kind  have  accepted  half  of  the  Christian  doctrine  of 
forgiveness  and  rejected  the  other  half,  that  they  have 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS.  3 KJ 

consented  to  forgive,  but  not  all  injuries,  not  until 
seventy  times  seven. 

Nevertheless  this  opinion  will  not  bear  examination. 
It  will  be  found  that  men  do  approve  and  admire  un¬ 
limited  forgiveness  provided  it  be  certainly  sincere, 
and  that  they  would  themselves  think  it  right  to  accept 
repentance  of  the  most  extreme  injury,  provided  the 
penitence  were  certainly  sincere.  But  in  most  prac¬ 
tical  cases  that  arise  both  repentance  and  forgiveness 
lie  under  the  suspicion  of  being  spurious.  There  is  a 
manifest  temptation  on  the  part  of  the  offender  to  feign 
repentance  ;  it  is  his  natural  expedient  for  averting 
punishment.  Repentance  therefore  is  very  extensively 
counterfeited,  and  there  has  arisen  a  prejudice  against 
the  name  which  is  easily  confounded  with  a  prejudice 
against  the  thing.  The  thing  repentance  all  would 
agree  is  good,  but  then  it  is  rare  ;  for  the  name  repent¬ 
ance  people  generally  have  slight  respect  because  it 
seldom  represents  the  thing.  And  the  suspicion 
attaching  to  professions  of  repentance  increases  with 
the  heinousness  of  the  injury.  It  is  a  common  be¬ 
lief  that  a  person  capable  of  committing  atrocious 
wrong  must  be  incapable  of  repenting  of  it,  and 
such  a  person’s  professions  are  accordingly  con¬ 
temptuous^  disregarded.  When  therefore  people 
deliberately  consider  it  mean  to  forgive  extreme  in¬ 
juries  they  are  really  setting  a  limit  not  to  the  duty  of 
forgiveness  but  to  the  possibility  of  genuine  repentance. 
The  words,  ‘  I  shall  be  a  villain  on  the  day  that  I  shake 
that  man’s  hand,’  do  not  mean  that  the  wrong  done 
has  1  een  too  great  to  be  forgiven  with  honor,  but  that 


32° 


ECCE  HOMO. 


it  implies  a  criminality  inconsistent  with  penitence. 
The  words,  4  There  are  some  injuries  that  no  ori6 
ought  to  forgive,’  mean  really,  There  are  some  injuries 
of  which  it  is  impossible  to  repent.  In  the  same 
way,  the  contempt  with  which  we  often  regard  those 
who  forgive  injuries  does  not  really  imply  any  dislike 
of  the  principle  of  forgiveness  itself,  but  only  a  sus¬ 
picion  that  in  the  particular  case  the  forgiveness  was 
not  genuine.  For  forgiveness  is  a  thing  not  less  liable 
to  be  counterfeited  than  repentance.  When  we  were 
considering  the  virtue  of  Mercy  we  remarked  that  the 
acts  which  it  dictates  are  often  precisely  those  which 
would  be  suggested  by  mere  laxity  or  indifference  to 
wrong.  Just  so  forgiveness  acts  in  the  same  way  as 
mere  servility.  The  bystander  therefore  may  easil}' 
have  a  difficulty  in  distinguishing  them,  and,  as  for¬ 
giveness,  like  all  high  virtues,  is  rare,  and  servility, 
like  all  low  vices,  common,  the  chances  are  in  any 
given  case  that  the  act  which  might  have  been  dictated 
by  either  was  actually  dictated  by  the  latter.  When 
the  wrong  forgiven  is  exceptionally  heinous  this  prob¬ 
ability  becomes  still  greater,  and  so  men  form  a  habit 
of  regarding  the  forgiveness  of  extreme  injuries  as  a 
contemptible  thing  except  in  those  cases  where  their 
previous  knowledge  of  the  person  who  forgives  makes 
it  impossible  to  suspect  him  of  servility.  In  such 
cases  they  betray  their  genuine  approbation  of  the 
principle  of  unlimited  forgiveness  by  enthusiastic 
admiration. 

A  few  cases  of  forgiveness  will  yet  remain  which 
we  can  scarcely  help  regarding  with  repugnance  even 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS.  32I 

though  we  have  no  antecedent  reason  to  suspect  ser¬ 
vility.  Othello  is  certainly  not  wanting  in  manly  spirit, 
yet  we  should  despise  and  almost  detest  him  if  he  for¬ 
gave  Iago.  But  this,  again,  does  not  prove  that  for¬ 
giveness  itself  is  in  any  circumstances  shocking  to  us. 
What  it  proves  is  that  circumstances  may  be  imagined 
of  injury  so  extreme  and  malignant  that  the  difficulty 
of  forgiveness  becomes  incalculable,  and  that  any  other 
way  of  accounting  for  the  injured  man’s  abstinence 
from  revenge,  however  improbable  and  almost  im¬ 
possible  in  itself,  becomes  easier  to  conceive  than  that 
he  could  be  capable  of  sincere  forgiveness.  But  every 
virtue,  and  not  forgiveness  only,  becomes  in  certain 
cases  impossible  to  human  infirmity.  Every  virtue  in 
the  extreme  limit  becomes  confounded  with  some  vice, 
and  the  only  peculiarity  in  the  case  of  this  virtue  is 
that  the  vice  which  counterfeits  it  is  peculiarly  con¬ 
temptible. 

To  sum  up :  the  forgiveness  of  injuries,  which  was 
regarded  in  the  ancient  world  as  a  virtue  indeed  but 
an  almost  impossible  one,  appears  to  the  moderns  in 
ordinary  cases  a  plain  duty  ;  and  whereas  the  ancients 
regarded  with  admiration  •  the  man  who  practised  it, 
ffie  moderns  regard  with  dislike  the  man  who  does 
not.  Where  the  injury  forgiven  is  extreme  the  mod¬ 
ems  regard  the  man  who  forgives  as  the  ancients 
regarded  the  man  who  forgave  an  ordinary  injury, 
that  is,  with  extreme  admiration,  provided  they  are 
convinced  of  the  genuineness  of  the  forgiveness.  On 
the  whole,  therefore,  it  appears  that  a  new  virtue  has 
been  introduced  into  human  life.  Not  only  has  it 

H* 


ECCE  HOMO. 


^  9  ? 

been  inculcated,  but  it  has  passed  so  completely  into 
the  number  of  recognized  and  indispensable  virtues, 
that  every  one  in  some  degree  practises  it,  and  that  by 
not  practising  it  men  incur  odium  and  loss  of  charac¬ 
ter.  To  the  other  great  changes  wrought  in  men’s 
minds  by  Christ  this  is  now  to  be  added,  the  most 
signal  and  beneficent,  if  not  the  greatest,  of  all.  It  is 
here  especially  that  Christianity  coincides  with  civili¬ 
zation.  Revenge  is  the  badge  of  barbarism ;  civil 
society  imposes  conditions  and  limitations  upon  it, 
demands  that  not  more  than  an  eye  shall  be  exacted 
for  an  eye,  not  more  than  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,  then 
takes  revenge  out  of  the  hand  of  the  injured  party  and 
gives  it  to  authorized  public  avengers,  called  kings  or 
judges.  A  gentler  spirit  springs  up,  and  the  perpetual 
bandying  of  insult  and  wrong,  the  web  *  of  murder¬ 
ous  feuds  at  which  the  barbarian  sits  all  his  life 
weaving  and  which  he  bequeaths  to  his  children, 
gives  place  to  more  tranquil  pursuits.  Revenge  be¬ 
gins  to  be  only  one  out  of  many  occupations  of  life, 
not  its  main  business.  In  this  stage  it  becomes  for 
the  first  time  conceivable  that  there  may  be  a  certain 
dignity  and  beauty  in  refraining  from  revenge.  So 
far  could  ordinary  influences  adv:nce  men.  They 
were  carried  forward  another  long  stage  by  a  sudden 
divine  impulse  'olio wed  by  a  powerful  word.  Not 
the  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity  alone,  not  the  great 
sentences  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  alone,  but  both 

*  .  .  .  .  ovd’  fiplv  avaaaifiiVy  oiaiv  apa  Z tig 
(K  veoTTjros  £<5wk£  teal  ds  yrjpas  rolvirdtiv 
apyaXtov j  luXipovg^ 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS.  .  323 

together*  the  creative  meeting  of  the  Spirit  and  the 
Word,  brought  to  life  the  new  virtue  of  forgiveness. 
To  paraphrase  the  ancient  Hebrew  language,  the 
Spiiit  of  Christ  brooded  upon  the  face  of  the  waters, 
and  Christ  said,  Let  there  be  forgiveness  and  there 
was  forgiveness. 


324 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS - continued* 


BUT  up  to  this  point  in  considering  Christ’s  princi* 
pie  of  forgiveness  we  have  disregarded  entirely 
the  v fords  in  which  he  proclaims  it.  That  we  should 
be  prepared  to  forgive  all  injuries  upon  condition  of 
repentance  is  involved  in  those  words,  but  they  contain 
much  more.  It  has  been  remarked  that  the  two  texts 
which  refer  to  the  subject  of  injuries  coincide  to  this 
extent,  but  that  from  this  point  they  differ  irreconcila¬ 
bly.  Having  considered  that  in  which  they  agree,  it 
is  time  for  us  to  discuss  that  in  which  they  differ. 

The  one  text  commands  the  Christian,  if  a  brother 
trespass  against  him,  to  rebuke  the  offender.  The 
other  gives  a  directly  contrary  precept,  4  If  a  man 
smite  thee  on  the  one  cheek,  turn  to  him  the  other 
also.’  This  apparent  contradiction  will  be  removed 
if  it  can  be  shown  that  Christ  was  not  contemplating 
the  same  class  of  injurers  in  the  two  cases.  Now,  if 
we  examine  the  first  passage,  we  immediately  discover 
that  the  injurer  referred  to  is  a  Christian.  In  the  first 
place,  he  is  called  a  brother,  which  we  know  to  have 
been  the  term  adopted  by  the  first  Christians  in  speak¬ 
ing  of  each  other.  In  the  second  place,  the  text  goes 
on  to  direct  that  if  the  offender  do  not  listen  to  the 
rebuke,  the  matter  be  brought  before  the  Church,  and 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS.  325 

that  if  he  continue  contumacious  he  be  treated  for  the 
future  as  a  heathen,  in  which  it  is  of  course  implied 
that  at  the  beginning  he  had  been  a  Christian.  So 
much  then  being  certain,  it  is  natural  to  conclude  that 
the  other  text  which  gives  a  different  direction  refers 
to  injuries  received  from  heathens.  Let  us  examine 
whether  this  conjecture  is  confirmed  by  the  expres¬ 
sions  used  in  the  passage  itself. 

That  passage  (Matt.  v.  38-48)  divides  itself  into  two 
parts  —  one  which  tells  us  what  feelings  we  ought  to 
entertain  towards  those  who  injure  us,  the  other  which 
tells  us  what  we  ought  to  do  to  them.  Now  in  the 
first  part  *  there  is  nothing  which,  after  what  has  been 
said  above,  requires  any  explanation.  It  forbids  us  to 
hate  the  injurer.  It  directs  us  to  continue  well-dis¬ 
posed  to  him  and  to  follow  the  example  of  Almighty 
God,  who  does  not  at  once  interdict  the  sinner  aqua  et 
igni  and  leave  him  to  perish,  but  continues  to  him  and 
to  the  land  he  tills  the  blessings  of  sunlight  and  rain. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  Christianity  must  speak  in  this 
strain.  The  Christian  is  a  man  not  indifferent  to  his 
fellow-men,  but  regarding  them  as  such  with  an  en¬ 
thusiastic  kindliness.  If  he  were  indifferent  to  them 
originally,  his  feelings  towards  each  individual  would 
be  determined  entirely  by  the  behavior  of  the  individ¬ 
ual  to  him.  He  would  love  those  who  benefited  him 
and  hate  those  who  did  him  hurt.  But  as  he  starts 
from  love,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  injury  would 
excite  hatred  in  him.  It  might  indeed  diminish  his 
lcve,  but  Christ  expresses  the  intense  and  ideal  char- 


•  Which,  however  stands  second  in  St.  Matthew  (v.  43-48). 


326 


ECCE  HOMO. 


acter  of  the  love  he  enjoins  and  inspires  by  declaiing 
that  it  must  not  have  even  this  effect. 

But  because  we  are  not  to  hate  an  enemy,  it  does 
not  immediately  follow  that  we  are  not  to  take  ven¬ 
geance  upon  him.  The  infliction  of  pain  and  damage 
is  quite  consistent  with  love,  as  we  all  acknowledge  in 
the  instance  of  a  parent  punishing  a  child.  In  fact,  if 
Christ  had  said  no  more  than  this  we  should  rather 
have  gathered  that  he  approved  of  the  requital  of  in¬ 
juries.  For  he  bids  us  imitate  Almighty  God,  who 
though  He  does  not  withdraw  from  sinners  the  rain 
and  sunlight,  yet  most  assuredly,  as  Christ  held,  pun¬ 
ishes  them.  If  we  are  to  imitate  Him  in  our  treatment 
of  injuries,  then  we  ought  to  remember  not  only  that 
His  tender  mercies  are  over  all  His  works,  but  also 
that  4  God  is  jealous,  and  the  Lord  revengeth  ;  the 
Lord  revengeth  and  is  furious/ 

So  far,  then,  this  passage  is  in  no  way  inconsistent 
with  that  other  in  which  we  are  directed  to  rebuke 
one  who  wrongs  us,  nor  is  there  anything  in  it  which 
strongly  suggests  that  Christ  was  thinking  of  one  par¬ 
ticular  class  of  offenders  more  than  another.  The  rule 
that  we  are  to  love  those  who  injure  us  is  no  doubt  ab¬ 
solutely  universal,  whatever  course  of  action  we  adopt 
in  reference  to  the  injury.  But  when  the  same  pas¬ 
sage  tells  us  how  we  are  to  act  —  when  it  directs  us 
to  endure  the  most  outrageous  insults  without  a  mui* 
mur  of  complaint  or  expostulation,  to  offer  the  left 
cheek  to  him  who  smites  us  on  the  right,  to  offer  the 
cloak  to  him  who  takes  away  the  coat — is  this  rule 
equally  universal,  or  is  there  anything  to  indicate  that 
the  oppressor  is  to  be  understood  to  be  a  heathen  ? 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS. 


327 


lu  may  seem  impossible  to  limit  one  part  of  the  pas¬ 
sage  without  at  the  same  time  limiting  the  other.  But 
if  Christ’s  thoughts  were  intent  upon  the  question  in 
what  way  his  followers  were  to  conduct  themselves 
towards  the  heathen  world  in  the  midst  of  which  they 
lived,  so  that  the  other  question,  how  they  weie  to 
conduct  themselves  towards  each  other,  did  not  at  the 
time  occur  to  his  mind,  nothing  is  more  natural  than 
that  he  should  in  the  same  breath  have  delivered  rules 
applicable  only  to  the  case  in  hand  and  other  rules 
equally  apjDlicable  to  it,  but  applicable  to  other  cases  as 
well.  Now  if  we  read  the  first  chapter  of  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount  connectedly,  we  shall  see  that  he  actually 
was  occupied  with  this  question,  and  that,  though 
heathen  are  not  expressly  mentioned,  the  Christian  is 
always  supposed  to  be  dealing  with  them.  Christ,  in 
short,  has  given  here  a  manual  of  the  behavior  he  re¬ 
quires  from  his  followers  towards  those  who  are  not  his 
followers.  For  example,  they  are  to  consider  them¬ 
selves  happy  when  men  (i.  e.  heathen  men)  revile  and 
persecute  them.  They  are  to  consider  themselves  as 
lights  in  the  world,  that  is,  as  illuminating  the  darkness 
of  heathenism ;  they  are  to  be  the  salt  of  the  earth,  that 
is,  their  Christian  enthusiasm  is  to  give  a  tone  to  the 
languid  and  lifeless  heathen  society.  And  in  the  pas¬ 
sage  itself  with  which  we  are  dealing,  it  is  sufficiently 
apparent  that  the  injuries  supposed  are  not  those  to 
which  in  the  intercourse  of  life  every  one  alike  is 
liable ;  the  blow  on  the  cheek,  the  spiteful  treatment, 
the  persecution,  point  to  the  insults  and  cruelties 
which  a  hated  and  despised  sect  had  to  expect  from 
the  outer  world. 


328 


ECCE  HOMO. 


Add  to  this  the  word  enemy.  It  may  not  strike  11s 
at  first  in  reading  the  passage  that  this  cannot  possibly 
apply  to  a  fellow-Christian.  That  there  are  enmities 
and  hatreds  between  Christians  is  to  us  a  familiar 
fact ;  we  find  nothing  very  strange  in  the  thought  of 
one  Christian  striking  another  on  the  cheek.  But  we 
must  be  careful  not  to  antedate  this  sad  knowledge. 
It  is  inconceivable  that  in  the  very  act  of  founding  a 
society  of  brothers  sworn  to  mutual  love,  in  the  very 
freshness  of  Christian  feeling,  Christ  should  have 
supposed  the  existence  of  savage  enmities  in  the  very 
bosom  of  the  Church,  and  should  have  commanded 
them  to  be  tolerated.  Such  gloomy  foresight  is  not 
characteristic  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  On  the 
contrary,  there  breathes  through  it  more  of  that  ardor 
which  realizes  a  distant  ideal,  and  overlooks  inter¬ 
mediate  difficulties,  than  appears  in  any  other  dis¬ 
course  of  Christ.  It  is  the  first,  the  simplest,  the 
largest  utterance  of  the  new  Law,  the  most  inspired 
expression  of  the  civilization  of  the  modern  world,  the 
fundamental  document  of  ripe  morality.  It  inaugurated 
a  golden  age  of  reconciliation  and  union.  It  is  the 
earliest  and  softest  note  of  that  heavenly  Dove  which 
has  built  its  nest  among  men,  and  which,  though  often 
scared  away  for  a  time,  has  still  returned.  True  in¬ 
deed  it  is,  that  the  actual  reconciliation  of  mankind 
was  further  off  than  might  at  that  time  have  seemed. 
True  that  Christ  on  other  occasions  recognized  this 
with  a  strange  sagacity  and  certainty.  Still,  nothing 
is  so  incredible  as  that  he  should  have  countenanced 
or  tolerated  in  thought  so  complete  an  obliteration  of 
the  distinction  between  the  Church  and  the  surround 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS.  329 

ing  world  as  might  make  it  possible  to  apply  to  the 
same  person  the  terms  ‘enemy’  and  ‘  fellow -Chris- 
tian.’ 

If,  then,  we  take  it  for  proved  that  the  directions 
contained  in  this  passage  refer  only  to  the  case  of  in¬ 
juries  inflicted  by  heathens,  we  arrive  at  this  remarka¬ 
ble  conclusion,  that  Christ  held  such  injuries  to  stand 
on  a  materially  different  footing  from  those  committed 
by  Christians.  We  have  seen  that  in  all  cases  what¬ 
ever  he  commanded  his  followers  to  be  ready  to  for¬ 
give  on  condition  of  repentance.  But  he  commands 
them,  when  dealing  with  a  brother  Christian,  firmly 
to  exact  that  repentance,  not  to  pass  the  injury  by,  not 
even  to  rest  content  with  a  rebuke,  unless  the  rebuke 
accomplish  its  purpose,  but  to  bring  the  matter  before 
the  Church  and  prosecute  it  until  the  offender  make 
submission.  O11  the  other  hand,  when  they  are  deal¬ 
ing  with  a  heathen,  they  are  to  bear  themselves  quite 
differently.  They  are  to  compose  themselves  to  an 
absolute  passive  tolerance,  and  to  bear  in  silence  what¬ 
ever  may  be  inflicted.  And  this  is  no  mere  political 
contrivance  for  carrying  a  helpless  sect  through  times 
of  persecution.  Christians  are  not  to  tolerate  injuries 
simply  because,  in  the  presence'  of  superior  force 
nothing  wrould  be  gained  by  resenting  them.  Then 
tolerance  is  not  to  be  reluctant  or  sullen,  nor  is  it  tc 
be  a  stoical  indifference.  They  are  to  think  of  their 
oppressors  with  positive  good-will ;  they  are  to  requite 
curses  not  with  silence,  much  less  with  silent  con¬ 
tempt,  but  with  blessings,  and  malice  not  with  indif¬ 
ference  but  with  acts  of  kindness.  Now  what  is  the 
ground  of  this  distinction?  What  so  great  diflereace 


33° 


ECCE  HOMO. 


is  there  between  the  Christian  and  the  heathen  that 
they  should  be  treated  so  differently?  Several  times 
in  this  treatise  we  have  had  occasion  to  mark  the 
essential  difference  between  a  Christian  and  a  heathen. 
We  have  found  it  to  depend  upon  that  universal  rela¬ 
tion  of  every  man  to  every  other  man  beyond  the 
special  relation  of  kindred  which  Christians  recognize 
and  heathens  do  not.  It  is  on  this  universal  relation 
of  human  beings  to  each  other  that  the  Church  is 
founded.  And  it  must  be  understood  that  they  con¬ 
ceived  this  relation  to  be  antecedent  to  the  foundation 
of  the  Church  and  altogether  independent  of  it.  Chris¬ 
tians  did  not  regard  each  other  as  brothers  because 
they  were  alike  members  of  the  Church,  but  they  be¬ 
came  members  of  the  Church  because  they  regarded 
each  other  as  brothers.  Therefore  they  cherished  the 
same  feeling  towards  those  who  were  not  members  of 
the  Church  and  who  did  not  reciprocate  the  feeling. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  heathen,  as  such,  recognized 
only  special  obligations  towards  particular  classes  of 
men,  his  relations  or  fellow-citizens.  If  he  recognized 
any  wider  obligations,  they  were  formal  obligations 
created  by  positive  legal  enactment  and  resting1,  in 
his  views  on  no  essential  justice.  In  the  heathen 
theory  the  relation  of  men  towards  each  other,  where 
no  tie  of  nature  or  of  treaty  had  bound  them  together, 
was  that  of  enemies.  They  were  rival  claimants  of 
the  earth’s  wealth  ;  their  interests  were  supposed  to  be 
conflicting ;  and  therefore  their  natural  condition  was 
hostility. 

This  being  so,  an  injury  committed  by  a  heathen 
must  have  been  essentially  different  from  an  injury 


THE  LAW  OF'  FORGIVENESS.  33 1 

committed  by  a  Christian.  Both  alike  were  violations 
of  obligation,  but  the  latter  was  a  conscious,  the  for¬ 
mer  an  unconscious  violation.  They  differed  as  much 
as  homicide  committed  in  war  upon  an  enemy  differs 
from  homicide  committed  in  peace  upon  a  fellow- 
citizen.  The  heathen  injured  one  whom  he  con¬ 
ceived  to  be  his  enemy  by  a  law  of  nature  and  to  be 
prepared  at  any  moment  to  perpetrate  a  similar  injury 
upon  himself.  But  an  injury  committed  by  a  Chris¬ 
tian  was  like  one  of  those  breaches  of  the  right  of 
hospitality  or  of  the  right  of  a  suppliant  from  which 
even  barbarians  shrank ;  it  was  the  violation  of  a 
solemn  compact.  It  was  reasonable,  therefore,  that 
the  two  classes  of  injuries  should  be  dealt  with  in  a 
very  different  way.  The  injurious  Christian  was  a 
proper  subject  of  resentment.  But  it  was  unreasona¬ 
ble  to  be  angry  with  the  injurious  heathen.  Anger, 
where  it  is  healthy  and  justifiable,  is  the  feeling  ex¬ 
cited  in  us  by  wrong,  by  laws  broken,  covenants  dis¬ 
regarded.  The  heathen  as  such  broke  no  law  and 
disregarded  no  covenant,  for  he  knew  of  none.  He 
might  be  noxious  and  mischievous,  but  he  could  not, 
in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word,  be  injurious.  It  might 
v  =*  most  necessary  to  inform  him  of  the  obligation  he 
neglected,  but  it  was  impossible  to  be  angry  with  him 
for  neglecting  it. 

This  description  of  the  heathen  would  be  justly 
charged  with  exaggeration  if  it  professed  to  describe 
the  ordinary  or  average  heathen.  But  what  it  pro¬ 
fesses  to  describe  is  the  ideal  heathen,  or  the  heathen 
as  he  would  have  been  had  he  lived  consistently  with 
his  theory.  Doubtless  this  is  as  much  an  abstraction 


33  3 


ECCE  HOMO. 


as  a  mathematical  point  or  line.  No  person  perfectly 
heathen  probably  ever  existed.  The  individual  heathen 
excelled  his  own  moral  system  as  much  as  the  individual 
Christian  falls  short  of  his.  Natural  kindness  was  in 
every  one  a  kind  of  substitute  for  Christianity.  Still  it 
is  not  easy  to  overestimate  the  hardening  effect  of  an 
antisocial  theory  of  life  which,  besides  seconding  all 
selfish  instincts,  did  not  appear  to  those  who  held  it 
a  theory  but  a  truth  too  obvious,  too  universally  held, 
consecrated  too  much  by  usage,  to  admit  of  being 
questioned.  We  may  imagine  the  almost  irresistible 
force  of  this  universal  prejudice  upon  minds  which 
had  never  heard  it  called  in  question,  if  we  remark 
the  difficulty  which  most  men  feel  at  the  present  day 
in  viewing  otherwise  than  as  the  wildest  of  para¬ 
doxes  the  proposition  that  the  happiness  of  the  brute 
creation  deserves  a  moment’s  consideration  when  com¬ 
pared  with  the  convenience  or  profit  of  human  beings. 
If  a  similar  insensibility  to  human  sufferings  compared 
with  personal  convenience  reigned  with  equal  domin¬ 
ion  in  the  minds  of  the  ancients,  if  their  virtues  ex¬ 
tended  no  farther  than  the  family  and  the  state,  if  they 
4  loved  their  brethren  only,1  it  was  quite  reasonable 
that  the  Christians  should  take  account  of  the  fact  in 
their  dealings  with  them,  and  instead  of  rebuking  them 
for  a  hardness  which  violated  no  principle  which  they 
acknowledged,  should  endeavor  to  teach  them  better 
by  forbearance  and  by  unexpected  retaliations  of  kind¬ 
ness. 

It  will  be  worth  while  here  to  raise  the  question,  If 
injuries  committed  by  heathens  were  thus  sharply  dis¬ 
tinguished  from  injuries  committed  by  Christians,  iiow 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS. 


333 


would  it  be  proper  for  a  Christian  to  deal  with  an 
injury  received  from  a  Jew?  Judaism  stands  midway 
between  heathenism  and  Christianity.  It  rose  out  of 
heathenism  as  twilight  out  of  night,  and  melted  into 
Christianity  as  twilight  into  morning.  In  its  earlier 
period  it  had  many  peculiarities  in  common  with 
heathenism,  but  its  later  form  closely  resembled  Chris¬ 
tianity.  It  did  not,  indeed,  clearly  announce  the  great 
Christian  law  of  humanity,  and  it  had  points  which 
led  those  who  embraced  it  in  a  perverse  spirit  into 
an  inhumanity  almost  worse,  though  less  brutal,  than 
the  inhumanity  of  heathenism.  But  it  contained  the 
germs  of  the  Christian  humanity  in  its  doctrine  of 
the  unity  of  God  and  of  the  creation  of  man  in  God’s 
image.  It  would  therefore  have  been  unreasonable 
for  a  Christian  to  treat  a  Jew  as  one  utterly  untaught 
in  humanity.  The  Jew  was  the  possessor  of  a  certain 
crude  Christianity,  and  even  if  he  had  not  been,  yet  an 
injury  done  by  him  to  a  Christian  would  generally  be 
the  trespass  of  a  brother  and  not  the  attack  of  an 
enemy,  since,  though  the  Jews  were  not  Christians, 
the  earliest  Christians,  at  any  rate,  were  for  the  most 
part  Jews. 

Christians  could  claim  at  the  hands  of  Jews  the 
rights  of  countrymen  and  the  rights  of  fellow-citizen¬ 
ship  in  the  ancient  theocracy.  Abraham  and  Moses 
belonged  to  both,  the  Psalms  of  David  and  the  prophe¬ 
cies  of  Isaiah.  An  injury  done  by  a  Jew  was  there¬ 
fore  a  thing  to  be  resented  by  a  Christian,  and  not  a 
tiling  to  be  passively  tolerated.  This  being  under¬ 
stood,  it  is  instructive  to  observe  how  exactly  Christ, 
when  he  became  the  object  of  insult  and  injury,  ob- 


334 


ECCE  HOMO. 


served  his  own  law.  In  his  murder  both  Jews  and 
Romans  were  concerned.  It  has  been  pointed  out  in 
a  former  chapter,  in  how  different  a  spirit  he  bore  the 
cruelties  of  his  accusers  and  those  of  his  executioners. 
Towards  the  Jews  he  cherishes  throughout  a  bitter 
feeling  of  resentment,  which  breaks  out  before  the 
high-priest  into  threatening  words.  But  before  Pilate 
he  bears  himself  gently  ;  he  exhibits  no  sign  of  anger, 
and  declares  his  Roman  judge  to  be  comparatively 
guiltless  of  his  unjust  condemnation.  He  prays  that 
his  Roman  executioners  may  be  forgiven,  although 
they  did  not  merely  obey  orders  but  heaped  wanton 
insults  upon  him ;  and  his  reason  is,  ‘  they  know  not 
what  they  do.’  This  litter  of  Roman  wolves,  to  whom 
and  to  whose  ancestors  no  prophet  had  ever  preached, 
whose  only  morality  in  dealing  with  foreigners  was  to 
subdue  and  crush  them,  what  wonder  if  they  revelled 
in  brutal  insult  of  a  Jew  who  had  called  himself  a 
king?  The  burning  anger  he  had  felt  before  Caiaphas 
subsided  at  once  in  the  presence  of  Roman  brutality. 
He  rebuked  the  brother  that  trespassed  against  him, 
but  when  the  ene?ny  smote  him  on  the  one  cheek  he 
turned  to  him  the  other. 

Another  point  now  requires  notice.  By  Christ’s 
law  the  Christian  is  commanded  in  some  cases  of  in¬ 
jury  to  go  without  redress  altogether,  in  others  to 
apply  for  it  to  the  Christian  assembly.  But  the  Chris¬ 
tian  assembly  had  no  power  of  compulsion,  and  there¬ 
fore  if  the  offender  proved  contumacious,  redress  was 
denied  to  the  injured  man  in  this  case  also.  It  ap¬ 
pears,  then,  that  in  no  case  whatever  does  Christ  coun¬ 
tenance  any  appeal  to  the  secular  courts  Are  we 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS. 


335 


then  to  suppose  that  all  that  machinery  for  checking 
and  punishing  crime,  which  has  been  established  in 
every  human  society  alike,  is  rejected  and  repudiated 
by  Christ?  Since  he  forbade  his  followers  to  avail 
themselves  of  this  machinery,  are  we  to  suppose  that 
he  disapproved  of  it,  and  that  he  intended,  when  so¬ 
ciety  should  be  remodelled  in  accordance  with  his 
morality,  that  it  should  be  abolished,  and  that  men 
should  depend  in  future  for  their  protection  against 
violence  upon  the  power  of  forgiveness  to  charm  away 
the  lawlessness  of  the  robber  and  the  plunderer? 

It  is  certainly  evident  that  if  Christ’s  law  were  uni¬ 
versally  practised  in  a  Christian  land  the  administration 
of  justice  would  be  suspended.  Where  all  alike  con¬ 
tented  themselves  with  first  rebuking  and  in  case  of 
contumacy  renouncing  the  society  of  those  who  in¬ 
jured  them,  there  would  be  no  trials,  for  there  would 
be  no  prosecutions.  Government  would  be  obliged  to 
abdicate  its  function  of  maintaining  tranquillity  and 
good  order  in  the  kingdom.  Is  this,  then,  what  Christ 
intended,  and  did  he  believe  that  the  influence  of  the 
Enthusiasm  of  Humanity  would  be  such  as  to  render 
law  and  police  superfluous?  Of  Christ’s  views  on 
civil  government  we  know  very  little.  Still  it  is  not 
conceivable  that  he  should  have  rejected  altogether  the 
notion  of  punishment,  since  we  see  that  in  describing 
the  Divine  government  he  introduces  it  freely.  In  va¬ 
rious  parables  he  has  represented  himself  as  a  ruler,  and 
his  conception  of  the  functions  of  a  ruler  appears  not 
to  differ  from  that  commonly  received.  It  most  dis¬ 
tinctly  includes  criminal  jurisdiction  and  punishment. 
We  may  be  sure  that  one  who  habitually  considered 


336 


ECCE  HOMO. 


governors  as  charged  with  the  duty  of  inflicting  pun¬ 
ishment,  cannot  have  considered  it  the  duty  of  subjects 
to  prevent  punishment  from  being  inflicted. 

It  is  in  the  circumstances  of  the  Church  at  its  foun¬ 
dation  that  we  shall  find  the  explanation  of  the  dif¬ 
ficulty.  Christ  forbids  his  followers  to  appeal  to  the 
6ecular  courts,  not  because  he  disapproved  of  criminal 
law  in  the  abstract,  but  for  the  same  reason  for  which 
he  systematically  passed  over  everything  relating  to 
politics  and  government.  It  was  because  the  Church 
was  established  in  the  midst  of  a  heathen  society  which 
it  was  in  no  way  to  countenance  and  yet  in  no  way  to 
resist.  Of  this  society  the  Church  was  in  one  sense  a 
mortal  enemy ;  that  is,  she  did  not  acknowledge  its 
right  to  exist,  and  she  looked  forward  to  a  time  when 
it  should  be  reconstructed  on  the  basis  of  an  acknowl¬ 
edgment  of  Christ  and  of  the  law  of  Humanity.  On 
the  other  hand,  it  was  Christ’s  fixed  resolution  to  enter 
into  no  contest  with  the  civil  power.  Therefore  he 
enjoins  upon  his  followers  an  absolutely  passive  be¬ 
havior  towards  it,  and  in  every  rule  that  he  lays  down, 
while  he  recognizes  the  fact  that  the  Church  itself  has 
no  power  of  compulsion,  he  makes  no  use  whatever 
of  that  power  residing  in  the  state. 

It  appears,  then,  that  the  law  we  have  been  con¬ 
sidering  was  dictated  by  special  circumstances.  It 
was  given  to  men  who  had  practically  no  country. 
The  paramount  duty  to  humanity  had  for  a  time  sus¬ 
pended  their  obligations  -to  the  government  under 
which  they  lived.  Or  rather  they  were  men  who, 
while  bearing  all  the  burdens  laid  upon  them  by  the 
government,  declined  for  special  reasons  all  the  advan* 


THE  LAW  OF  FORGIVENESS.  337 

tages  they  might  have  derived  from  government.  It 
was  for  a  society  thus  deprived  by  circumstances  of  all 
political  interests  that  Christ  legislated,  for  a  society 
which  was  directed  to  act  as  good  citizens  do  under  a 
usurping  but  still  a  settled  government,  —  that  is,  to 
become  political  quietists,  disturbing  as  little  as  possi¬ 
ble  the  public  tranquillity,  but  at  the  same  time  coun¬ 
tenancing  as  little  as  possible  the  unrighteous  power. 
Accordingly,  in  laying  down  a  law  for  the  treatment 
of  injuries,  Christ  entirely  disregards  the  political  bear¬ 
ings  of  the  question.  He  considers  no  interests  but 
those  of  the  parties  immediately  concerned.  To  raise 
the  question  whether  his  law  of  abstinence  from  prose¬ 
cution  is  consistent  with  social  order  is  therefore  to 
misunderstand  it.  Owing  to  special  circumstances 
this  element  was  eliminated  from  the  problem.  Like 
the  First  Law  of  Motion,  this  law  postulates  the 
absence  of  external  forces.  What  it  affirms  is  that, 
supposing  a  wrong  committed  in  redressing  which 
only  the  injured  party  is  interested,  he  should  endeavor 
to  bring  the  offender  to  submission  by  patience  if  it  be 
an  offence  of  ignorance,  by  rebuke  if  he  knew  better, 
but  in  no  case  by  force. 

The  special  circumstances  have  long  passed  away, 
and  it  is  now  impossible  to  eliminate  from  the  problem 
all  that  bears  upon  public  order.  Society,  and  not 
the  injured  party  only,  has  now  to  be  considered  in  the 
treatment  of  an  injury.  Christ’s  law  therefore  ceases 
in  many  cases  to  be  serviceable  as  a  rule  of  life.  But 
if  this  were  so  in  all  cases,  it  would  not  therefore  lose 
its  value.  The  First  Law  of  Motion  is  still  the  foun¬ 
dation  of  mechanics,  although  no  body  in  the  universe 

IS 


ECCE  HOMO. 


was  ever  actually  in  the  condition  that  law  supposes. 
Christ’s  law  may  be  no  longer  an  invariable  law  for 
action,  but  it  is  an  invariable  law  for  feeling  and  for 
motive.  Instead  of  abstaining  from  prosecution  it  may 
now  be  a  positive  duty  to  prosecute,  but  it  must  no 
longer  be  a  'pleastire  to  prosecute.  The  prosecution 
that  duty  dictates  is  externally  the  same  act  as  the  pros¬ 
ecution  prompted  by  selfish  revenge,  but  essentially  it 
is  a  totally  different  act.  That  this  essential  difference 
is  now  clear,  and  that  it  is  applicable  to  practice,  is  one 
aoiding  effect  of  Christ’s  law.  Nor  is  prosecution  in¬ 
consistent  with  kindness.  Punishments  may  once  more, 
6ince  the  Church  became  reconciled  to  the  State,  have 
become  Christian  acts  and  may  have  their  use,  and  dis¬ 
charge  in  some  cases  the  same  functions  that  Christ 
intended  to  be  discharged  by  passive  tolerance.  The 
sense  of  a  rule  higher  than  self-interest  may  be  roused 
sometimes  by  severity,  sometimes  by  unexpected  gen¬ 
tleness,  sometimes  by  the  mixture  of  both.  But  though 
the  prohibition  of  severity  must  now  be  considered  as 
taken  off,  yet  the  emphatic  recommendation  of  gentle¬ 
ness  remains.  It  remains  a  duty  in  all  cases  where 
such  a  course  is  likely  to  succeed  to  endeavor  by  every 
act  of  kindness  consistent  with  duty  to  the  public  to 
point  out;  to  the  rude  and  heathenish  heart  ‘  the  more 
excellent  way  of  charity.’ 


339 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

CONCLUSION. 

r T^HE  outline  of  Christian  morality  is  now  com- 
pletely  drawn,  and  it  only  remains  to  take  a 
parting  glance  at  the  picture  from  some  point  where 
we  can  see  it  all  in  one  view. 

Let  us  endeavor,  then,  once  more  to  answer  the 
question,  What  is  the  Christian  Church  ? 

First,  it  is  a  commonwealth.  In  other  words,  it  is  a 
society  of  men  who  meet  together  for  common  objects, 
and  it  differs  from  the  minor  clubs  or  unions  under 
which  men  avail  themselves  of  the  principle  of  asso¬ 
ciation,  and  resembles  those  greater  societies  which  we 
call  states,  in  this  respect  that  it  claims  unlimited  self- 
sacrifice  on  the  part  of  its  members,  and  demands  that 
the  interest  and  safety  of  the  whole  shall  be  set  by  each 
member  above  his  own  interest  and  above  all  private 
interests  whatever. 

Secondly,  as  all  commonwealths  are  originally  based 
upon  some  common  quality,  and  for  the  most  part  on 
a  blood-relationship,  real  or  supposed,  of  the  mem¬ 
bers,  so  is  the  Christian  Church  based  upon  a  blood- 
relationship,  but  the  most  comprehensive  of  all,  the 
kindred  of  every  human  being  to  every  other. 

It  is  therefore  absolutely  open  to  all  human  beings 
who  choose  to  become  members  of  it. 


34° 


ECCE  HOMO. 


But  the  objects  for  which  this  commonwealth  exists 
are  much  less  obvious  and  intelligible  than  those  for 
which  the  local  commonwealths  of  the  earth  exist. 
Accordingly  it  is  demanded  of  every  member  of  the 
Christian  Commonwealth  that  he  be  introduced  into  it 
wilh  a  prescribed  form  and  in  a  public  manner,  that 
he  be  instructed  in  the  objects  for  which  it  exists,  and 
that  he  testify  his  membership  from  time  to  time  by  a 
common  meal  taken  in  conjunction  with  other  mem¬ 
bers  also  according  to  a  prescribed  form. 

The  effect  of  this  system  and  of  the  absence  of  local 
boundaries  is  that  the  objects  of  the  Christian  Common¬ 
wealth,  though  less  obvious,  are  far  better  defined  than 
those  of  other  commonwealths,  and  that  it  approaches 
far  nearer  to  the  theoretical  perfection  of  a  state. 
Other  states  are  but  accidental  aggregates,  whose  at¬ 
traction  of  cohesion  was  originally  a  clannish  instinct 
or  a  common  terror  of  some  near  enemy  or  the  ex¬ 
ternal  pressure  of  physical  barriers  ;  such  states,  though 
when  once  formed  they  may  conveniently  be  used  for 
definite  objects,  yet  cannot  properly  be  said  to  have 
any  definite  object  at  all.  But  the  Christian  Common¬ 
wealth  has  the  same  object  now  which  it  had  at  the 
beginning,  and  what  that  object  is  it  is  and  always  has 
been  easy  to  discover. 

The  Christian  has,  as  such,  a  definite  relation  to 
every  other  human  being,  to  every  Christian  as  a  fellow- 
citizen,  and  to  every  person  who  is  not  Christian  as 
possessing  that  humanity  which  is  the  ground  of 
Christianity. 

In  ordinary  states  there  arises  out  of  the  union,  the 
relationships,  the  intercourse,  the  common  interests  of 


CONCLUSION. 


341 


the  citizens,  a  sense  of  duties  towards  each  other  and 
of  justice.  This  sense  expresses  itself  in  laws,  which, 
at  first  few  and  but  half-just,  have  a  reacting  effect 
upon  the  sense  of  justice  which  produced  them, 
developing  it  and  causing  it  gradually  to  produce 
more  and  juster  laws.  By  this  system  of  laws  the 
citizens  are  taught  to  abstain  from  doing  serious  inju¬ 
ries  to  each  other,  and  a  spirit  of  sympathy  is  fostered 
which  disposes  them  to  help  each  other  in  difficulties. 
The  morality  which  thus  springs  up  does  not  at  the 
beginning  influence  the  citizens  in  their  dealings  with 
foreigners,  but  is  supposed  to  be  inseparable  from  the 
civic  relation.  In  a  time  of  general  intercourse  be¬ 
tween  nations  the  obligations  of  justice  become  in  a 
certain  degree  recognized  even  between  foreigners, 
but  grudgingly,  and  active  sympathy  between  them 
scarcely  exists  at  all. 

A  similar  process  goes  forward  in  the  Christian 
Commonwealth,  and,  as  it  includes  all  mankind,  the 
sense  of  duty  which  springs  up  in  it  is  a  sense  of  duty 
to  man  as  man,  and  whatever  kindness  it  fosters  is 
also  not  exclusive  but  truly  cosmopolitan  or  humane. 
In  the  Christian  Commonwealth  also  the  sense  of 
duty  gives  birth  to  laws  ;  and  whatever  laws  are  com¬ 
mon  to  all  secular  states  are  transferred  to  it,  while 
some  new  ones  are  suggested  by  its  peculiar  conditions. 
But  whereas  in  other  states  the  greatest  importance  is 
attached  to  these  laws  and  the  greatest  trouble  taken  to 
make  them  as  just,  as  numerous,  and  as  exact  as  pos¬ 
sible,  in  the  Christian  Commonwealth  a  different  view 
is  taken.  The  laws  themselves  are  not  considered  as 
very  important;  no  pains  are  bestowed  upon  forming 


34  2 


ECCE  HOMO. 


them  precisely ;  and  they  exist  rather  as  rules  gen* 
erally  understood  in  the  minds  of  the  citizens  than 
as  written  statutes.  On  the  other  hand,  that  sense  of 
obligation  in  which  all  laws  have  their  origin  is  re¬ 
garded  as  inexpressibly  important.  Every  expedient  is 
used  to  increase  the  keenness  of  this  sense  to  such  a 
point  that  it  shall  instantly  and  instinctively  suggest 
the  proper  course  of  action  in  any  given  case. 

This  increased  and  intense  moral  sensitiveness  has 
an  effect  upon  the  objective  morality  of  the  Christian 
Commonwealth,  and  it  also  gives  a  peculiar  tone  to 
the  character  of  individual  Christians.  Its  effect  upon 
objective  morality  is  to  create  a  number  of  new  duties 
which  tire  duller  moral  sense  of  secular  states  does  not 
apprehend.  These  new  duties,  as  has  been  said,  are 
not  carefully  formulated,  but  they  are  apprehended 
very  plainly  and  universally  recognized.  Of  these 
new  duties  some  do  not  differ  in  kind  from  those  which 
secular  morality  prescribes.  They  are  but  new  appli¬ 
cations  of  principles  which  under  other  systems  are 
admitted  but  applied  imperfectly.  But  besides  these 
a  whole  class  of  new  duties  arise  in  the  Christian 
Commonwealth  which  are  different  in  kind  from  those 
acknowledged  in  secular  commonwealths.  These  are 
positive  or  active  duties  —  duties,  that  is,  not  of  re¬ 
fraining  from  injuries  but  of  promoting  actively  the 
welfare  of  others.  In  secular  states,  though  men  had 
frequently  appeared  who  had  performed  these  duties, 
they  had  not  performed  them  as  duties  but  rather  as 
works  of  supererogation,  and  for  performing  them 
they  had  received  from  their  fellow-citizens  not  simple 
approbation  but  such  admiration  as  we  bestow  on 


CONCLUSION. 


343 


those  who  do  something  extraordinary.  These  ex¬ 
traordinary  services  to  humanity  become  ordinary  and 
imperative  in  the  Christian  Commonwealth.  They 
fall  naturally  into  two  classes  —  services  to  the  bodies 
of  men  and  services  to  their  characters  and  moral 
development ;  and  to  perform  either  class  of  duties 
well,  truly  to  serve  men’s  bodies  or  their  souls,  requires 
the  most  assiduous  study,  calls  for  comprehensive 
knowledge  and  perpetual  earnest  endeavor. 

But  the  fact  that  in  the  Christian  Commonwealth  so 
much  importance  is  attached  to  a  strong  moral  sense* 
the  fact  that  this  is  used  as  a  substitute  for  strict  laws, 
modifies  individual  character  even  more  than  objective 
morality.  As  this  moral  sense  is  expected  to  discover 
the  right  course  of  action  in  any  given  case  without 
the  help  of  a  law,  so,  vice  versa ,  it  is  not  considered 
satisfactory  that  the  right  act  should  be  done,  unless 
the  moral  sense  be  active  in  dictating  it.  Merely  for 
the  purpose  eof  discovering  the  right  act  the  moral 
sense  would  often  be  unnecessary  ;  in  most  cas^s  the 
right  act  is  determined  for  us  by  the  customs  of  society, 
or  by  our  own  previous  experience  of  similar  cases. 
But  the  rule  of  the  Christian  Commonwealth  is,  that 
though  the  feeling  be  not  necessary  to  discover  the 
right  act,  yet  the  act  must  always  be  accompanied  by 
the  feeling.  Therefore  to  perform  an  act  of  kindness 
coldly,  an  act  of  self-denial  reluctantly,  an  act  of  for¬ 
giveness  with  suppressed  ill-will,  or  any  right  act 
whatever  from  interested  motives,  whether  to  escape 
punishment  or  to  win  applause,  or  mechanically  from 
a  liable  of  following  fixed  maxims,  or  from  any  other 
motive  except  the  moral  sense,  is  to  break  the  funda 


344 


ECCE  HOMO. 


mental  law  of  the  Christian  Commonwealth.  The 
Christian  therefore  must,  it  appears,  cherish  a  peculiar 
temperament,  such  that  every  combination  of  circum¬ 
stances  involving  moral  considerations  may  instanta¬ 
neously  affect  him  in  a  peculiar  way  and  excite  pecu¬ 
liar  feelings  in  him.  He  must  not  arrive  at  the  right 
practical  conclusion  after  a  calculation  or  a  struggle, 
but  by  an  instantaneous  impulse.  Rightly  to  appre¬ 
ciate  what  the  circumstances  are  may  indeed  cost  him 
thought  and  study,  but  when  once  the  position  is  made 
clear  to  his  mind,  the  moral  sense  should  speak  as 
promptly  as  the  note  sounds  when  the  string  of  a 
musical  instrument  is  struck. 

This  moral  sensitiveness,  this  absolute  harmony  of 
inward  desire  with  outward  obligation,  was  called  by 
Christ  and  his  Apostles  by  a  name  of  which  holiness  is 
the  recognized  English  equivalent,  and  it  is  attributed 
to  the  presence  of  a  Divine  Spirit  within  the  soul.  It 
is  the  absolute  and  ultimate  test  of  true  membership 
in  the  Christian  Commonwealth.  He  who  has  it  not 
cannot  be  a  true  member  whatever  he  may  have,  and 
he  who  has  it  is  a  member  whatever  he  may  lack. 
But  how  is  this  moral  sensitiveness  produced  ?  It  is 
the  effect  of  a  single  ardent  feeling  excited  in  the  soul. 
A  single  conception  enthusiastically  grasped  is  found 
powerful  enough  to  destroy  the  very  root  of  all  immo¬ 
rality  within  the  heart.  As  every  enthusiasm  that  a 
man  can  conceive  makes  a  certain  class  of  sins  impos¬ 
sible  to  him,  and  raises  him  not  only  above  the  com¬ 
mission  of  them,  but  beyond  the  very  temptation  to 
commit  them,  so  there  exists  an  enthusiasm  which 
makes  all  sin  whatever  impossible.  This  enthusiasm 


CONCLUSION. 


345 


:s  emphatically  the  presence  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  It  is 
called  here  the  Enthusiasm  of  Humanity,  because  it  is 
that  respect  for  human  beings  which  no  one  altogether 
wants  raised  to  the  point  of  enthusiasm.  Being  a 
reverence  for  human  beings  as  such ,  and  not  for  the 
good  qualities  they  may  exhibit,  it  embraces  the  bad 
as  well  as  the  good,  and  as  it  contemplates  human 
beings  in  their  ideal  —  that  is,  in  what  they  might  be 
—  it  desires  not  the  apparent,  but  the  real  and  highest 
welfare  of  each  ;  lastly,  it  includes  the  person  himself 
who  feels  it,  and,  loving  self  too  only  in  the  ideal, 
differs  as  much  as  possible  from  selfishness,  being 
associated  with  self-respect,  humility,  and  indepen¬ 
dence,  as  selfishness  is  allied  with  self-contempt,  with 
arrogance,  and  with  vanity. 

Once  more,  how  is  this  enthusiasm  kindled?  All 
virtues  perpetuate  themselves  in  a  manner.  When 
the  pattern  is  once  given  it  will  be  printed  in  a  thou¬ 
sand  copies.  This  enthusiasm,  then,  was  shown  to 
men  in  its  most  consummate  form  in  Jesus  Christ. 
From  him  it  flows  as  from  a  fountain.  How  it  was 
kindled  in  him  who  knows?  4  The  abysmal  deeps  of 
personality’  hide  this  secret.  It  was  the  wrill  of  God 
to  beget  no  second  son  like  him.  But  since  Christ 
showed  it  to  men,  it  has  been  found  possible  for  them 
to  imitate  it,  and  every  new  imitation,  by  bringing 
the  marvel  visibly  before  us,  revives  the  power  of 
the  original.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  Enthusiasm  is 
kindled  constantly  in  new  hearts,  and  though  in  few 
it  burns  brightly,  yet  perhaps  there  are  not  very  many 
in  which  it  altogether  goes  out.  At  least  the  concep¬ 
tion  of  morality  wrhich  Christ  gave  has  now  become 


ECCE  HOMO. 


346 

the  universal  one,  and  no  man  is  thought  good  who 
does  not  in  some  measure  satisfy  it. 

Living  examples  are,  as  a  general  rule,  more  potent 
than  those  of  which  we  read  in  books.  And  it  is  true 
Shat  the  sight  of  very  humble  degrees  of  Christian 
humanity  in  action  will  do  more  to  kindle  the  Enthu¬ 
siasm,  in  most  cases,  than  reading  the  most  impressive 
scenes  in  the  life  of  Christ.  It  cannot,  therefore,  Be 
said  that  Christ  is  the  direct  source  of  all  humanity. 
It  is  handed  on  like  the  torch  from  runner  to  runner 
in  the  i  ace  of  life.  Still  it  not  only  existed  in  Christ 
in  a  preeminent  degree,  but  the  circumstances  of  his 
life  and  death  gave  him  preeminent  opportunities  of 
displaying  it.  The  story  of  his  life  will  always  re¬ 
main  the  one  record  in  which  the  moral  perfection 
of  man  stands  revealed  in  its  root  and  its  unity,  the 
hidden  spring  made  palpably  manifest  by  which  the 
whole  machine  is  moved.  And  as,  in  the  will  of 
God,  this  unique  man  was  elected  to  a  unique  sorrow, 
and  holds  as  undisputed  a  sovereignty  in  suffering  as 
in  self-devotion,  all  lesser  examples  and  lives  will  for¬ 
ever  hold  a  subordinate  place,  and  serve  chiefly  to  re¬ 
flect  light  on  the  central  and  original  Example.  In 
his  wounds  all  human  sorrows  will  hide  themselves, 
and  all  human  self-denials  support  themselves  against 
his  cross.— -But  we  are  travelling  into  questions  which 
we  are  not  yet  in  a  condition  to  discuss. 

Our  subject  has  hitherto  been  Christian  morality. 
We  have  considered  the  scheme  by  which  Christ 
united  men  together,  cured  them  of  their  natural  an¬ 
tipathy,  cured  them  of  their  selfishness.  But  man  has 
other  enemies  beside  himself,  and  has  need  of  pro- 


CONCLUSION. 


347 


tections  and  supports  which  morality  cannot  give.  He 
is  at  enmity  with  Nature  as  well  as  with  his  brother- 
man.  He  is  beset  by  two  great  enemies  with  whom 
he  knows  not  how  to  cope.  The  first  is  Physical 
Evil ;  the  second  is  Death.  The  harm  which  is  done 
to  us  by  our  fellow-men  we  can  at  least  understand. 
We  understand  either  that  they  are  angry  with  us  for 
some  reason,  or  that  they  have  personal  objects  to 
gratify  which  involve  suffering  to  us.  What  we  can 
understand  we  can  sometimes  guard  against,  we  can 
generally  foresee.  Bat  when  the  forces  of  Nature 
become  hostile  to  us,  we  know  neither  why  it  is  so, 
nor  what  to  do.  Most  of  these  enemies  attack  us 
capriciously,  but  one  of  them  is  certain  to  attack 
us  sooner  or  later,  and  certain  to  prevail.  He  may 
not  be  the  worst  among  them  ;  he  may  not  be  an 
enemy  at  all ;  but  he  is  more  dreaded  than  any, 
because  he  is  more  mysterious.  And  though  we 
know  little  of  Death,  we  cannot  help  thinking  it  a 
comfortless  torpor,  that  deprives  the  hero  of  his  hero¬ 
ism,  the  face  of  its  smile,  the  eye  of  its  expression, 
that  first  strikes  the  human  form  with  a  dull,  unsocial 
stiffness,  and  then  peels  the  beauty  from  it  like  a  rind 
and  exposes  the  skeleton.  In  different  degrees  men 
learn  and  always  have  learnt  to  overcome  this  terror, 
and  to  meet  death  with  contentment,  and  even  in  some 
cases  with  joy.  But  death  remains  the  fatal  bar  to 
all  complete  satisfaction,  the  disturber  of  all  great 
plans,  the  Nemesis  of  all  great  happiness,  the  standing 
dire  discouragement  of  human  nature. 

What  comfort  Christ  gave  men  under  these  evils, 
how  he  reconciled  them  to  nature  as  well  as  to  each 


34§ 


ECCE  HOMO. 


other  by  offering  to  them  new  views  of  the  Power  by 
which  the  world  is  governed,  by  his  own  triumph 
over  death,  and  by  his  revelation  of  eternity,  will  be 
the  subject  of  another  treatise. 

In  closing  the  subject  for  the  present,  let  us  reflect 
for  a  moment  upon  the  magnitude  of  the  work  which 
Christ  accomplished,  and  the  nature  of  which  we 
have  been  investigating.  We  may  consider  it  in  two 
very  different  aspects.  It  was,  in  the  first  place,  a 
work  of  speculation,  which  we  may  compare  with  the 
endeavors  of  several  ancient  philosophers  to  picture 
to  themselves  a  commonwealth  founded  on  juster  and 
clearer  principles  than  the  states  they  saw  around 
them.  Plato  made  such  an  attempt,  and  a  later  phi¬ 
losopher  was  on  the  point  of  realizing  his  conception 
in  an  actual,  palpable,  Platonopolis.  The  Kingdom 
of  God,  the  New  Jerusalem,  which  Christ  founded, 
was  similar  to  this  speculative  state.  He  seized  upon 
the  substantial  principles  which  lie  at  the  founda¬ 
tion  of  every  civil  society,  and  without  waiting  foi 
favorable  circumstances  or  for  permission  of  kings, 
and  not  only  dispensing  with  but  utterly  repudiating  a 
local  habitation,  he  conceived  a  commonwealth  de¬ 
veloped,  as  it  were,  from  within.  It  was  one  of  those 
daring  imaginations,  in  which,  as  a  general  rule,  we 
allow  philosophers  to  indulge  in  their  studies,  not 
because  we  imagine  for  a  moment  that  they  can  ever 
be  realized,  but  because  they  are  useful  educational 
exercises  for  youth,  and  because  in  filling  up  the 
paper  design  suggestions  may  be  thrown  out  which  a 
practical  man  may  be  able  gradually  to  work  into  the 
constitution  of  some  existing  state.  To  make  any 


CONCLUSION- 


349 


more  practical  use  of  such  schemes  almost  all  the 
practical  statesmen  that  ever  lived  would  at  once  pro¬ 
nounce  impossible.  They  know  better,  of  course, 
than  all  other  men,  with  how  little  wisdom  the  world 
is  governed.  They  regard  the  whole  framework  of 
all  institutions  as  determined  by  the  plain,  universal, 
animal,  propensities  of  men  and  the  irresistible  con¬ 
straint  of  external  conditions.  They  believe  that  for 
the  most  part  nothing  can  be  done  by  the  wisdom 
of  individuals  but  to  watch  the  operation  of  these 
causes,  to  take  advantage  of  each  passion  as  it  rises, 
and  sometimes  to  procure  the  adoption  of  a  measure 
which  is  solidly  good,  when  it  happens  to  be  mo¬ 
mentarily  popular.  But  any  comprehensive  scheme, 
appealing  to  first  principles  and  at  the  same  time  de¬ 
manding  sacrifices  from  men,  they  consider  in  the 
nature  of  things  impracticable.  Such,  then,  was 
Christ’s  scheme,  regarded  as  a  speculation. 

We  do  not  compare  Plato’s  Republic  with  the  re¬ 
publics  of  Athens  or  Rome,  because,  however  interest¬ 
ing  the  former  may  be  on  paper,  it  has  never  been 
realized.  It  may  be  very  perfect,  but  Athens  and 
Rome  were  more  ;  they  existed .  But  the  speculative 
commonwealth  of  Christ  may  be  compared  to  the 
commonwealths  of  the  world  as  well  as  to  those  of 
philosophers.  For,  however  impossible  it  may  seem, 
this  speculation  of  a  commonwealth  developed  from 
first  principles  has  been  realized  on  a  grand  scale. 
It  stands  in  history  among  other  states ;  it  subsists  in 
the  midst  of  other  states,  connected  with  them  and  yet 
distinct.  Though  so  refined  and  philosophic  in  its 
constitution,  it  has  not  less  vigor  than  the  states  which 


ECCE  HOMO. 


350 

are  rounded  on  the  relations  of  family,  or  language,  or 
the  convenience  of  self-defence  and  trade.  Not  less 
vigor,  and  certainly  far  more  vitality.  It  has  already 
long  outlasted  all  the  states  which  were  existing  at 
the  time  of  its  foundation  ;  it  numbers  far  more  citi¬ 
zens  than  any  of  the  states  which  it  has  seen  spring 
up  near  it.  It  subsists  without  the  help  of  costly 
armaments ;  resting  on  no  accidental  aid  01  physical 
support,  but  on  an  inherent  immortality,  it  defied  the 
enmity  of  ancient  civilization,  the  brutality  of  medi¬ 
eval  barbarism,  ana  under  the  present  universal  em¬ 
pire  of  public  opinion,  it  is  so  secure  that  even  those 
parts  of  it  seem  indestructible  which  deserve  to  die. 
£t  has  added  a  new  chapter  to  the  science  of  politics ; 
it  has  passed  through  almost  every  change  of  form 
which  a  state  can  know ;  it  has  been  democratical, 
aristocratical ;  it  has  even  made  some  essays  towards 
constitutional  monarchv ;  and  it  has  furnished  the 
most  majestic  and  scientific  tyranny  of  which  history 
makes  mention. 

For  the  New  Jerusalem,  as  we  witness  it,  is  no  more 
exempt  from  corruption  than  was  the  Old.  That 
early  Christian  poet  who  saw  it  descending  in  incor¬ 
ruptible  purity  4  out  of  heaven  from  God,’  saw,  as  poets 
use,  an  ideal.  He  saw  that  which  perhaps  for  a  point 
of  time  was  almost  realized,  that  which  may  be 
realized  again.  But  what  we  see  in  history  behind 
us  and  in  the  world  about  us  is,  it  must  be  confessed, 
not  like  *  a  bride  adorned  for  her  husband.’  We  see 
something  that  is  admirable  and  much  that  is  great 
and  wonderful,  but  not  this  splendor  of  maiden  purity. 
The  bridal  dress  is  worn  out,  and  the  orange  flower  is 


CONCLUSION. 


35 4 


faded.  First  the  rottenness  of  dying  superstitions, 
then  barbaric  manners,  then  intellectualism  preferring 
system  and  debate  to  brotherhood,  strangling  Chris¬ 
tianity  with  theories  and  framing  out  of  it  a  charla¬ 
tan’s  philosophy  which  madly  strives  to  stop  the 
progress  of  science  —  all  these  corruptions  have  in  the 
successive  ages  of  its  long  life  infected  the  Church,  and 
many  new  and  monstrous  perversions  of  individual 
character  have  disgraced  it.  The  creed  which  makes 
human  nature  richer  and  larger,  makes  men  at  the 
same  time  capable  of  profounder  sins ;  admitted  into 
a  holier  sanctuary,  they  are  exposed  to  the  temptation 
of  a  greater  sacrilege  ;  awakened  to  the  sense  of  new 
obligations,  they  sometimes  lose  their  simple  respect 
for  the  old  ones  ;  saints  that  have  resisted  the  subtlest 
temptations  sometimes  begin  again,  as  it  were,  by 
yielding  without  a  struggle  to  the  coarsest ;  hypocrisy 
has  become  tenfold  more  ingenious  and  better  sup¬ 
plied  with  disguises ;  in  short,  human  nature  has 
inevitably  developed  downwards  as  well  as  upwards, 
2nd  if  the  Christian  ages  be  compared  with  those  of 
heathenism  they  are  found  worse  as  well  as  better, 
and  it  is  possible  to  make  it  a  question  whether  man¬ 
kind  has  gained  on  the  whole. 

To  be  sure,  the  question  is  a  frivolous  one.  What 
good  for  the  grown  man  to  regret  his  childhood,  and 
to  think  his  intelligence  and  experience  a  poor  com¬ 
pensation  for  the  careless  happiness  that  accompanied 
his  childish  ignorance?  It  was  by  Nature’s  law  that 
he  grew  to  manhood,  and  if  infancy  can  be  happy 
without  wisdom,  a  foolish  and  superstitious  man  can¬ 
not  hope  for  the  same  happiness.  Those  who  saw 


ECCE  HOMO. 


352 

6  old  Proteus  rising  from  the  sea  ’  may  or  may  not  have 
been  happier  than  we  are  ;  we,  at  any  rate,  should  be 
none  the  happier  for  seeing  him.  But  the  triumph 
of  the  Christian  Church  is  that  it  is  there ,  —  that  the 
most  daring  of  all  speculative  dreams,  instead  of  being 
found  impracticable,  has  been  carried  into  effect,  and, 
when  carried  into  effect,  instead  of  being  confined  to 
a  few  select  spirits,  has  spread  itself  over  a  vast  space 
of  the  earth’s  surface,  and,  when  thus  diffused  instead 
cf  giving  place  after  an  age  or  two  to  something  more 
adapted  to  a  later  time,  has  endured  for  two  thousand 
years,  and,  at  the  end  of  two  thousand  years,  instead 
of  lingering  as  a  mere  wreck  spared  by  the  tolerance 
of  the  lovers  of  the  past,  still  displays  vigor  and  a 
capacity  of  adjusting  itself  to  new  conditions,  and 
lastly,  in  all  the  transformations  it  undergoes,  remains 
visibly  the  same  thing  and  inspired  by  its  Founder’s 
universal  and  unquenchable  spirit. 

It  is  in  this  and  not  in  any  freedom  from  abuses  that 
the  divine  power  of  Christianity  appears.  Again  it  is 
in  this,  and  not  in  any  completeness  or  all-sufficiency. 
It  is  a  common  mistake  of  Christians  to  represent  their 
faith  as  alone  valuable  and  as,  by  itself,  containing  all 
that  man  can  want  or  can  desire.  But  it  is  only  one 
of  many  revelations,  and  is  very  insufficient  by  itself 
for  man’s  happiness.  Some  of  the  men  in  whom  the 
Christian  spirit  has  been  strongest  have  been  among 
the  most  miserable  of  the  race  ;  some  nations  have  im¬ 
bibed  it  deeply  and  have  not  been  led  by  it  to  happi¬ 
ness  and  power,  but  have  only  been  consoled  by  it  in 
degradation.  Happiness  wants  besides  some  physical 
conditions,  animal  health  and  energy ;  it  wants  also 


CONCLUSION. 


353 


much  prudence,  knowledge  of  physical  facts,  and 
resource.  To  assist  us  in  arrangingthe  physical  condi¬ 
tions  of  our  well-being  another  mighty  revelation  has 
been  made  to  us,  for  the  most  part  in  these  latter  ages. 
W e  live  under  the  blessed  light  of  science,  a  light  yet 
far  from  its  meridian  and  dispersing  every  day  some 
noxicus  superstition,  some  cowardice  of  the  human 
spirit.  These  two  revelations  stand  side  by  side.  The 
points  in  which  they  have  been  supposed  to  come  into 
collision  do  not  belong  to  our  present  subject ;  they 
concern  the  theology  and  not  the  morality  of  the 
Christian  Church.  The  moral  revelation  which  we 
have  been  considering  has  never  been  supposed  to  jar 
with  science.  Both  are  ti*ue  and  both  are  essential  to 
human  happiness.  It  may  be  that  since  the  methods 
of  science  were  reformed  and  its  steady  progress  be¬ 
gan,  it  has  been  less  exposed  to  error  and  perversion 
than  Christianity,  and,  as  it  is  peculiarly  the  treasure 
belonging  to  the  present  age,  it  becomes  us  to  guard  it 
with  peculiar  jealousy,  to  press  its  claims,  and  to  treat 
those  who,  content  with  Christianity,  disregard  science 
as  Christ  treated  the  enemies  of  light,  ‘  those  that  took 
away  the  keys  of  knowledge,’  in  his  day.  Assuredly 
they  are  graceless  zealots  who  quote  Moses  against  the 
expounders  of  a  wisdom  which  Moses  desired  in  vain, 
because  it  was  reserved  for  a  far  later  generation,  for 
these  modern  men,  to  whom  we  may  with  accurate 
truth  apply  Christ’s  words  and  say  that  the  least  among 
them  is  greater  than  Moses.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
Christian  morality,  if  somewhat  less  safe  and  exempt 
from  perversion  than  science,  is  more  directly  and  vi¬ 
tally  beneficial  to  mankind.  The  scientific  life  is  less 


354 


ECCE  HOMO. 


noble  than  the  Christian ;  it  is  better,  so  to  speak,  to 
be  a  citizen  in  the  New  Jerusalem  than  in  the  New 
Athens;  it  is  better,  surely,  to  find  everywhere  a 
brother  and  friend,  like  the  Christian,  than,  like  the 
philosopher,  to  4  disregard  your  relative  and  friend  so 
completely  as  to  be  ignorant  not  only  how  he  gets  on, 
but  almost  whether  he  is  a  human  being  or  some  other 
80 rt  of  creature/  * 

But  the  achievement  of  Christ,  in  founding  by  his 
single  will  and  power  a  structure  so  durable  and  so 
universal,  is  like  no  other  achievement  which  history 
records.  The  masterpieces  of  the  men  of  action  are 
coarse  and  common  in  comparison  with  it,  and  the 
masterpieces  of  speculation  flimsy  and  insubstantial. 
When  we  speak  of  it  the  commonplaces  of  admiration 
fail  us  altogether.  Shall  we  speak  of  the  originality 
of  the  design,  of  the  skill  displayed  in  the  execution? 
All  such  terms  are  inadequate.  Originality  and  con¬ 
triving  skill  operated  indeed,  but,  as  it  were,  implicitly. 
The  creative  effort  which  produced  that  against  which, 
it  is  said,  the  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail,  cannot  be 
analyzed.  No  architects’  designs  were  furnished  for 
the  New  Jerusalem,  no  committee  drew  up  rules  for 
the  Universal  Commonwealth.  If  in  the  works  of 
Nature  we  can  trace  the  indications  of  calculation,  of 
a  struggle  with  difficulties,  of  precaution,  of  ingenuity, 
then  in  Christ’s  work  it  may  be  that  the  same  indica¬ 
tions  occur.  But  these  inferior  and  secondary  powers 
were  not  consciously  exercised ;  they  were  implicitly 
present  in  the  manifold  yet  single  creative  act.  The 
inconceivable  work  was  done  in  calmness ;  before  the 


*  Plato,  Theaet.  p.  80. 


CONCLUSION. 


355 


eyes  of  men  it  was  noiselessly  accomplished,  attracting 
little  attention.  Who  can  describe  that  which  unites 
men?  Who  has  entered  into  the  formation  of  speech 
which  is  the  symbol  of  their  union?  Who  can  de¬ 
scribe  exhaustively  the  origin  of  civil  society  ?  He  who 
can  do  these  things  can  explain  the  origin  of  the  Chris¬ 
tian  Church.  For  others  it  must  be  enough  to  say, 
4  the  Holy  Ghost  fell  on  those  that  believed.’  No  man 
saw  the  building  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  the  workmen 
crowded  together,  the  unfinished  walls  and  unpaved 
streets ;  no  man  heard  the  clink  of  trowel  and  pick¬ 
axe  ;  it  descended  out  of  heaven  from  God. 


NOTES. 


Note  i.  Page  17. 

“  Wonder-working  pictures  are  generally  but  poor  paintings.” 

Note  2.  Page  46. 

“  For  him  no  child 

Upon  his  knees  shall  lisp  a  father’s  name, 

Safe  from  the  war  and  battle-field  returned.” 

II.  v.  408,  Earl  of  Derby's  Tr. 

Note  3.  Page  252. 

“  Then  to  the  female  slaves  he  gave  command 
To  wash  the  body,  and  anoint  with  oil, 

Apart,  that  Priam  might  not  see  his  son  ; 

Lest  his  grieved  heart  its  passion  unrestrained 
Should  utter,  and  Achilles,  roused  to  wrath, 

His  suppliant  slay,  and  Jove’s  command  transgress.” 

Earl  of  Derby’s  Tr c 

Note  4.  Page  252. 

“Then  would  I  fain  have  slain  him  with  the  sword, 

Plad  not  some  God  my  rising  fury  quelled, 

And  set  before  my  mind  the  public  voice, 

The  odium  I  shall  have  to  bear  ’mid  Greeks, 

If  branded  with  the  name  of  parricide.” 

Ibid . 


Note  5.  Page  322. 

“Not  the  chief  of  such  a  host 
As  ours,  on  whom,  from  youth  to  latest  age, 
Jove  hath  the  gift  bestowed,  to  bear  the  brunt 
Of  hardy  war.”  —  II.  xiv.  85  -  87,  Ibid. 


PREFACE  SUPPLEMENTARY- 


TO 

ECCE  HOMO. 


Objections  have  been  taken  to  the  title  of  this  book  as  not  exactly 
describing  its  purpose.  Probably  no  short  title  that  could  have  been 
devised  would  have  escaped  the  same  objections.  If  the  writer  could 
have  conveyed  his  intention  completely  in  his  title,  he  might  have 
spared  his  preface. 

He  is  surprised  to  find  his  kind  and  cordial  critic  in  Macmillans 
Magazine  quietly  discussing  the  possibility  that  that  preface  may  prove 
to  have  been  a  fiction.  He  fully  agrees  with  those  who  declare  that 
any  such  mystification  on  such  a  subject  would  be  immoral. 

One  word  he  wishes  to  say  about  the  charge  of  confident  dogmatism 
which  is  brought  against  him.  Dogmatism  is  no  doubt  used  by  supe¬ 
riors  to  inferiors,  but  it  is  also  used  in  conversation  between  people  who 
feel  themselves  perfectly  equal.  Expressions  of  modest  deference, 
confessions  of  fallibility  and  imperfect -knowledge,  are  wearisome  be¬ 
tween  equals.  The  writer  addresses  throughout  free  inquirers  like  him¬ 
self,  and  uses  the  tone  which  he  would  like  others  to  adopt  towards 
him.  His  book  is  not  a  book  of  authority,  but  of  inquiry  and  sug¬ 
gestion  ;  it  is  intended  not  to  close  discussion,  but  to  open  it.  It  asks 
for  consideration  and,  where  it  is  wrong,  for  refutation.  There  may, 
however,  be  some  who  complain  with  more  reason  of  dogmatism. 
There  may  be  readers  who  belong  to  some  school  or  sect  with  which 
the  writer  has  little  sympathy,  and  whose  favorite  opinions  and  inter¬ 
pretations  he  has  no  doubt  in  many  cases  entirely  overlooked.  Such 
readers  will  naturally  be  offended  when  they  find  what  they  regard  aa 
obviously  true  treated  as  obviously  false.  But  they  ought  to  consider 


IV 


PREFACE  SUPPLEMENTARY. 


that  on  such  a  subject  as  Christianity  no  one  can  write  for  all  at  once  ; 
every  writer  must  suppose  that  he  will  be  read  only  by  those  who  will 
grant  him  some  general  postulates  which  are  by  no  means  self-evident 
the  reader  who  cannot  grant  these,  ought  to  know  that  the  book  was 
not  intended  for  him.  If  it  had  been  necessary  to  prove  every  point 
which  able  and  famous  writers  have  denied,  assuredly  those  for  whom 
Ecce  Homo  was  written  would  never  have  had  patience  to  read  it,  nor 
indeed  would  the  author  have  had  patience  to  write  it. 

As  this  book  contains  no  criticism  of  documents,  some  reviewers 
have  supposed  that  the  author  wrote  without  any  criterion  in  his  mind 
by  which  to  test  the  veracity  of  the  narratives  from  which  he  drew 
his  conclusions,  and  that  he  simply  assumed  the  truth  of  everything 
which  struck  his  fancy,  or  suited  a  preconceived  theory.  It  may  there¬ 
fore  be  advisable  to  give  here  a  short  account  of  the  method  he  pur¬ 
sued. 

He  was  concerned  with  four  writers  who,  in  nearness  to  the  events 
they  record  and  probable  means  of  acquiring  information,  belong  to 
the  better  class  of  historical  witnesses,  but  whose  veracity  has  been 
strongly  impeached  by  critics,  both  on  the  ground  of  internal  discrep¬ 
ancies  and  of  the  intrinsic  improbability  of  their  story.  Out  of  these 
four  writers  he  desired,  not  to  extract  a  life  of  Christ,  not  to  find  out 
all  that  can  be  known  about  him,  but  to  form  such  a  rudimentary  con¬ 
ception  of  his  general  character  and  objects  as  it  may  be  possible  to 
form  while  the  vexed  critical  questions  remain  in  abeyance.  The  de¬ 
tection  of  discrepancies  in  the  documents  establishes  a  certain  degree 
of  independence  in  them,  and  thus  gives  weight  to  their  agreements  ; 
in  particular,  the  wide  divergence  in  tone  and  subject-matter  of  the 
Fourth  Gospel  from  the  other  three  affords  a  strong  presumption  in 
favor  of  all  statements  in  which  it  coincides  with  them.  The  rudiment 
of  certainty  which  the  writer  sought,  he  accordingly  expected  to  find 
in  the  consent  of  all  the  witnesses.  If  the  statements  unanimously  at¬ 
tested  should  prove  numerous  enough  to  afford  any  outline  of  Christ’s 
life,  however  meagre,  he  proposed  to  rest  content  with  this. 

The  following  propositions  are  deduced  from  St.  Mark,  and  the  ref¬ 
erences  are  to  that  Gospel :  — 


PREFACE  SUPPLEMENTARY. 


V 


h  Christ  assumed  a  position  of  authority,  different  from  that  as¬ 
sumed  by  ordinary  teachers :  i.  22. 

2.  He  claimed  to  be  the  Messiah  :  viii.  29,  30 ;  xii.  6 ;  xiv.  62. 

3.  Under  this  title  he  claimed  an  inexpressible  personal  rank  and 
dignity  :  xii.  36,  37 ;  xiii.  6,  7. 

4.  He  claimed  the  right  to  revise  and  give  a  free  interpretation  to  the 
Mosaic  Law :  ii.  27  ;  x.  4. 

5.  He  claimed  the  power  of  forgiving  sins  :  ii.  10. 

6.  He  commanded  a  number  of  men  to  attach  themselves  to  his  pei- 
son,  ii.  14;  x.  21  ;  to  the  society  thus  formed  he  gave  special  rules  of 
life,  x.  43,  44;  made  his  name  a  bond  of  union  among  them,  ix.  37- 
41  ;  and  contemplated  the  continuance  of  the  society  under  the  same 
conditions  after  his  departure  :  xiii.  13. 

7.  He  was  believed  by  his  followers  to  work  miracles. 

8.  .These  miracles  were  principally  miracles  of  healing. 

9.  The  society  he  founded  was  gathered,  in  the  first  instance,  from 
the  Jews  :  vii.  27  ;  but  it  was  intended  ultimately  to  embrace  the  Gen¬ 
tiles  also :  xiii.  10. 

10.  Though  he  assumed  the  character  of  King  and  Messiah,  he  de¬ 
clined  to  undertake  the  ordinary  functions  of  kings  :  xii.  14. 

11.  He  required  from  his  disciples  personal  devotion,  and  the  adop¬ 
tion  of  his  example  as  their  rule  of  life  :  viii.  34,  35  ;  x.  45. 

12.  He  spoke  of  a  Holy  Spirit  as  inspiring  himself:  iii.  20-30; 
and  also  as  inspiring  his  followers  :  xiii.  1 1. 

13.  He  spoke  much  of  the  importance  of  having  good  feelings  as 
well  as  good  deeds  :  vii.  15  -23  :  ix.  50. 

14.  He  demanded  positive  and,  as  it  were,  original  acts  of  virtue 
passing  beyond  the  routine  of  obligation  :  x.  21. 

15.  He  denounced  vehemently  those  whose  morality  was  of  an  out¬ 
ward,  mechanical  kind,  and  he  named  them  hypocrites  :  vii.  I  -  13. 

16.  By  these  denunciations,  and  by  his  claims  to  Messiahship,  he 
placed  himself  in  deadly  opposition  to  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees  :  xii. 

17.  He  required  from  his  followers  a  spirit  of  devotion  to  the  wel¬ 
fare  of  their  fellow-creatures  :  ix.  35  ;  xii.  31  ;  and  he  declared  him¬ 
self  to  be  actuated  by  the  same  spirit :  x.  45. 


vi 


PREFACE  SUPPLEMENTARY. 


1 8.  Accordingly  he  went  much  among  sick  people,  healing  them, 
sometimes  with  strong  signs  of  emotion  :  vii.  34. 

19.  He  enjoined  upon  his  followers  a  similar  philanthropy:  x.  2t, 
44-5  ;  vi.  13. 

20.  He  occupied  himself  also  with  curing  moral  disease,  and  par¬ 
ticularly  in  the  outcasts  of  society  :  ii.  16,  17. 

21.  He  taught  the  forgiveness  of  injuries  :  xi.  25. 

Now  of  these  propositions,  which  have  been  deduced  from  St. 
Mark,  it  is  to  be  observed,  in  the  first  place,  that  they  are  equally 
deduciole,  with  scarcely  the  alteration  of  a  word,  from  each  of  the 
other  three  Gospels.  The  only  exception  to  this  is  that  the  author 
of  the  Fourth  Gospel,  who  confines  himself  very  much  to  generalities, 
does  not  speak  definitely  of  the  forgiveness  of  injuries  or  of  the  duty 
of  relieving  men’s  physical  wants.  On  the  other  hand,  he  attests  more 
strongly  th'an  the  other  Evangelists  the  prominence  which  was  given, 
in  Christ’s  moral  teaching,  to  love.  As  forgiveness  and  philanthropy 
are  among  the  most  obvious  manifestations  of  love,  we  may  certainly 
say  that  St.  John,  too,  though  not  expressly,  yet  implicitly,  attests 
that  they  were  prescribed  by  Christ.  In  the  next  place,  these  propo¬ 
sitions  assert  things  about  which  the  Evangelists  were  most  unlikely  to 
be  mistaken.  For,  first,  they  are  not  isolated  incidents  which,  how¬ 
ever  generally  received,  might  be  traceable  ultimately  to  a  single  wit¬ 
ness.  They  refer  to  the  habitual  acts!,  to  the  customary  words  of 
Christ  If  Christ  claimed  to  be  Messiah  once,  he  did  so  often ;  if  he 
denounced  the  hypocrisy  of  the  Pharisees,  he  did  so  systematically. 
Secondly,  they  are  public  and  conspicuous  acts  and  words  which  it 
would  be  difficult  to  falsify  in  the  lifetime  and  within  the  knowledge 
of  those  who  had  been  witnesses  of  them. 

So  far,  therefore,  these  propositions  are  attested  in  the  most  com¬ 
plete  way.  But  one  objection  may  be  made  to  the  evidence.  It  may 
be  said  that  it  is  exclusively  Christian  evidence,  and,  therefore,  that  it 
may  have  been  corrupted  by  Christian  prejudices  in  two  principal 
points :  Christ  may  have  been  simply  a  teacher,  and  the  claim  to  Mes- 
siahship  may  have  been  an  invention  of  his  followers.  Next,  having 
represented  him  as  the  Messiah,  th^y  may  have  felt  it  necessary  to  rep« 
resent  him  —  also  contrary  to  the  truth  —  as  working  miracles. 


PREFACE  SUPPLEMENTARY. 


Vll 


But,  indeed,  that  Christ  did  himself  claim  Messiahship  cannot  rea¬ 
sonably  be  doubted.  His  death  is  explicable  on  no  other  supposition. 
On  this  point  assuredly  his  enemies  and  his  followers  were  agreed. 
Nor  can  it  be  doubted,  by  the  present  writer  at  least,  that  he  was  be¬ 
lieved  in  his  lifetime,  and  not  merely  after  his  death,  to  work  miracles. 
All  those  circumstances  which  have  been  represented  as  suspicious,  — 
his  unwillingness  to  perform  miracles  in  certain  cases,  the  contempt  he 
expressed  for  those  whose  faith  depended  exclusively  upon  them,  — are 
strong  evidence  that  the  miracles  were  at  least  no  afterthoughts  of  the 
biographers,  for  such  circumstances  were  most  unlikely  to  occur  either 
in  legend  or  in  falsification.  The  fact  that  Christ  appeared  as  a  worker 
of  miracles  is  the  best  attested  fact  in  his  whole  biography,  both  by 
the  absolute  unanimity  of  all  the  witnesses,  by  the  confirmatory  cir¬ 
cumstances  just  mentioned,  and  by  countless  other  special  confirma¬ 
tions  of  circumstances  not  likely  to  be  invented,  striking  sayings  insep¬ 
arably  connected  with  them,  &c. ,  in  particular  cases. 

If,  then,  Christ  did  claim  to  be  Messiah  and  to  work  miracles,  it 
does  not  appear  which  of  the  above  propositions  Christian  prejudice 
would  have  any  interest  or  tendency  to  pervert.  We  have  in  them  a 
perfectly  consistent  and,  as  it  seems  to  the  writer,  an  irrefragable  out¬ 
line  of  that  part  of  Christ’s  life  which  is  discussed  in  these  pages.  The 
writer  has  adopted  it  as  his  framework,  and  has  not  attempted  to  add 
to  it  anything  fundamental,  but  has  simply  sought  to  find  in  the  Gos¬ 
pels  matter  illustrative  of  it. 

This  illustrative  matter  which  is  drawn  from  particular  Gospels  rests, 
of  course,  on  inferior  evidence.  But  evidence  inferior  to  the  best  may 
have  very  great  probability,  and  there  are  certain  obvious  criteria  by 
which  this  probability  may  be  estimated.  In  the  case  of  teachings,  or 
maxims,  the  best  criterion  is  their  congruity  with  that  general  outline 
of  Christ’s  system  in  which  all  the  Evangelists  agree.  If  they  explain 
it  and  make  it  consistent,  then,  coming  from  witnesses  not  ill-furnished 
with  the  means  of  acquiring  true  information,  they  will  deserve  to  be 
received.  Their  genuineness  is  often  confirmed  by  other  circumstances. 
For  example,  the  same  thought  in  itself  agreeable  to  Christ’s  charac¬ 
ter,  sometimes  appears  over  and  over  again,  clothed  in  different  forms, 


Mil 


PREFACE  SUPPLEMENTAL. 


expressed  in  different  figures  of  speech ;  or  two  doctrines  compliment 
ary  to  each  other,  —  that  is,  such  that  the  person  who  holds  one 
must  logically  hold  the  other  also,  —  appear  in  different  Gospels  or  in 
different  parts  of  the  same  Gospel ;  or  something  striking  in  the  ex¬ 
pression  seems  to  bear  the  stamp  of  a  remarkable  mind.  In  this  man 
ner  there  may  be  collected  a  considerable  body  of  illustration  both  of 
Christ’s  character  and  of  the  great  Christian  moral  principle,  the  di¬ 
vine  inspiration  which  makes  virtue  natural,  active,  tender,  elevated, 
resentful,  forgiving.  On  the  other  hand,  isolated  maxims  occurring 
once  only,  and  not  readily  connecting  themselves  with  what  is  radical 
in  the  system,  are  in  this  book  generally  passed  over. 

Similar  criteria  may,  to  a  certain  extent,  be  applied  to  Christ’s  acts. 
Acts  which  are  evidently  in  character  gain  credibility,  and  this  credi¬ 
bility  is  increased  when  there  is  about  them  something  beyond  the  or¬ 
dinary  reach,  or  beside  the  purpose,  of  invention.  The  account  of  the 
woman  taken  in  adultery  has  scarcely  any  external  authority.  But  it 
seems  to  derive  great  probability  from  the  fact  that  the  conduct  at¬ 
tributed  to  Christ  in  it  is  left  half  explained,  so  that,  as  it  stands,  it 
does  not  satisfy  the  impulses  which  lead  to  the  invention  and  reception 
of  fictitious  stories. 

The  peculiar  mannerism,  if  the  expression  may  be  used,  of  the 
Fourth  Gospel,  has  caused  it  to  be  suspected  of  being  at  least  a  freely 
idealized  portraiture  of  Christ.  In  this  book,  therefore,  it  is  not  re¬ 
ferred  to,  except  in  confirmation  of  statements  made  in  the  other  Gos¬ 
pels,  and  once  or  twice  where  its  testimony  seemed  in  itself  probable 
and  free  from  the  suspected  peculiarities. 

Resting  then  upon  a  basis  of  absolutely  uniform  testimony,  upon 
facts  merely  illustrated  and  explained  by  less  certain  tradition,  the 
writer  has  endeavored  to  describe  a  moralist  speaking  with  authority 
and  perpetuating  his  doctrine  by  means  of  a  society.  It  is  this  union 
of  morals  and  politics  that  he  finds  to  be  characteristic  of  Christianity. 
But  some  of  his  readers,  he  has  observed,  fail  to  grasp  the  conception. 
They  insist  (the  objection  is  repeated  from  a  private  letter)  that  Christ, 
as  far  as  concerns  morality,  does  not  differ  from  Seneca,  except  in  the 
matter  of  his  teaching.  Seneca  says,  “You  ought  to  do  this,”  and 


PREFACE  SUPPLEMENTARY. 


ix 


Christ,  however  authoritative  his  style  may  be,  can  say  no  more.  It 
is  part  of  the  same  objection,  as  will  be  shown  further  on,  when  they 
maintain  that  those  discoveries  in  morality,  which  have  been  attributed 
to  Christ  in  this  book,  are  no  discoveries  at  all,  but  were  known  to  the 
world  already. 

Let  us  look  to  the  facts.  Let  us  compare  a  disciple  of  Christ  with 
a  Stoic  and  reader  of  Seneca.  They  existed  side  by  side  at  the  end 
of  the  first  century.  Was  their  view  of  the  obligations  resting  upon 
them  similar?  It  was  totally  different.  The  Stoic  rules  were  without 
sanctions.  If  they  were  violated,  what  could  be  said  to  the  offender  ? 
All  that  could  be  said  was,  “ Nempe  hoc  indocti”  or  “  Chrysippus  non 
dicet  idem.”  To  which  how  easy  to  reply,  “  I  esteem  Chrysippus,  but 
on  this  point  I  differ  from  him  !  ”  To  Christian  lapsi  it  was  said, 
“You  have  renounced  your  baptism ;  you  have  denied  your  Master; 
you  are  cut  off  from  the  Church:  the  Judge  will  condemn  you.”  Is 
this  distinction  a  verbal  or  a  practical  one  ? 

Now  it  is  maintained  in  this  book  that  the  distinction  is  not  only 
real  but  all-important,  and  that  without  a  society,  and  an  authority  of 
some  kind,  morality  remains  speculative  and  useless.  Eveiy  man  is 
conscious  that  of  the  morality  which  he  theoretically  holds  there  is 
one  part  which  he  always  and  easily  practises,  and  another  part  which 
he  often  neglects.  He  knows  as  well,  theoretically,  that  the  pleasure 
he  finds  in  telling  scandalous  stories  is  vicious,  as  he  knows  that  the 
taste  for  theft  is  vicious.  Yet  he  falls  sometimes  into  the  one  vice, 
and  he  is  in  no  danger  of  falling  into  the  other.  The  inducements  to 
theft  may  be  greater  than  the  inducements  to  scandal,  and  yet  he  finds 
them  easier  to  resist.  Again,  scandal  is  generally  more  inexcusable 
and  may  easily  be  more  mischievous  than  theft,  and  yet  when  he  has 
been  guilty  of  scandal  he  feels  only  that  he  has  done  wrong,  —  nempe 
hoc  indocti ,  — when  he  has  committed  theft  he  feels  that  he  is  disgraced 
forever.  The  simple  reason  of  this  is,  that  theft  is  the  vice  which  po¬ 
litical  society  exists  to  put  down,  and  that  laws  are  directed  against  it 

The  civil  union  then,  and  positive  laws,  create  a  certain  amount  of 
practical  morality.  Certain  principles  of  moral  philosophy,  through 
this  organization,  cease  to  be  merely  speculative,  and  become  pow***- 


PREFACE  SUPPLEMENTARY. 


X 

fully  operative.  But.it  is  not  this  organization  only  which  has  sucfl 
an  effect  Almost  every  organization  which  has  an  object  calling  for 
the  exercise  of  any  moral  virtue  creates  in  some  degree  the  virtue  it 
wants.  It  may  be  advisable  to  produce  another  example.  The  effect 
then  of  an  army  in  creating  moral  virtue  is  most  striking  and  manifest. 
It  develops  the  virtues  of  manly  courage  and  subordination,  not  in  a 
few  favorable  cases  merely,  but  with  an  almost  irresistible  power 
through  its  whole  body.  To  face  death,  to  obey  one  who  has  a  right 
to  command,  two  of  the  most  difficult  lessons,  lessons  which  assuredly 
philosophers  have  seldom  been  found  able  effectually  to  inculcate,  are 
taught  by  this  organization  with  success  almost  uniform  and  absolute, 
even  to  people  who  bring  with  them  no  intellectual  culture.  Nor 
would  the  importance  of  this  fact  be  at  all  diminished  if  it  should  be 
admitted  that  armies  have  at  the  same  time  in  other  respects  a  vicious 
influence. 

As  Christ  habitually  compared  his  Church  to  a  state  or  kingdom,  so 
there  are  traces  that  its  analogy  to  an  army  was  also  present  to  his 
mind. 

A  story  is  preserved  of  a  centurion  who  sent  entreating  his  help  for 
a  sick  servant,  and  when  Christ  promised  to  come  and  exert  his  power, 
deprecated,  with  an  ingenuous  embarrassment,  an  honor  which  seemed 
to  him  subversive  of  the  distinctions  of  rank.  He  represented  himself 
<is  filling  a  place  in  a  graduated  scale,  as  commanding  some  and  obey¬ 
ing  others,  and  the  proposed  condescension  of  one  whom  he  ranked 
so  immeasurably  above  himself  in  that  scale  shocked  him.  This  spirit 
of  order,  this  hearty  acceptance  of  a  place  in  a  society,  this  proud  sub¬ 
mission  which  no  more  desires  to  rise  above  its  place  than  it  will  con¬ 
sent  to  fall  below  it,  was  approved  by  Christ  with  unusual  emphasis 
and  warmth. 

What  states  are  to  the  moral  virtues  of  justice  and  honesty,  and 

I 

armies  to  the  virtues  of  courage  and  subordination,  that  the  Christian 
Church  is  intended  to  be  to  all  virtues  alike,  but  especially  to  those 
which  are  nursed  by  no  other  organization,  philanthropy,  mercy,  for¬ 
giveness,  &c.  When,  therefore,  the  writer  has  spoken  of  these  virtues 
as  having  b  :en  introduced  among  mankind  by  Christ,  he  does  not  mean 


PREFACE  SUPPLEMENTARY. 


xi 


to  say  that  they  had  never  before  been  declared  by  philosophers  to  be 
virtues.  He  has  expressly  guarded  himself,  and  that  several  times 
(see  particularly  p.  142),  against  this  misunderstanding.  He  has  ex¬ 
pressly  said  (p.  182)  that  the  province  of  Christianity  is  not  the  prov¬ 
ince  of  the  moralist.  But  the  difference  between  stating  the  principles 
of  morality  and  putting  men  into  a  condition  to  practise  them,  —  be¬ 
tween  introducing  new  truths  to  the  lecture-room  of  the  philosopher 
and  introducing  them  to  the  markets,  and  councils,  and  homes  of  men, 

—  this  difference,  though  it  seems  to  some  of  his  readers  vague  or 
slight,  seems  to  the  writer  vast  and  all-important.  He  knows  some¬ 
thing  of  what  is  in  Seneca  and  Epictetus,  and  he  duly  respects  the 
moralities  taught  there;  but  he  “yields  all  blessing  to  the  name  of 
Him  that  made  them  current  coin.  ” 

That  Christ  has  improved  the  ideal  morality  of  philosophers  is  not 
what  the  writer  wishes  to  maintain,  though  probably  it  is  true.  Nor 
does  he  assert,  what  may  also  be  true,  that  Christ  has  improved  the 
moral  practice  of  the  average  of  men.  But  he  asserts  that  Christ  has 
greatly  elevated  the  generally  accepted  and,  as  it  were,  the  attainable 
standard  of  virtue,  and  further,  that  he  has  set  in  motion  a  machinery 
by  which,  properly  used,  this  standard  may  be  elevated  still  further. 
In  what  particular  points  the  standard  has  been  raised  the  writer  has 
tried  to  define,  doubtless  with  very  imperfect  success.  One  position, 

—  namely,  that  Christ  turned  virtue  from  a  passive  abstinence  from 
wrong  into  an  active  beneficence,  — has  been  peremptorily  denied,  and 
passages  have  been  produced  to  show  that  ancient  philosophers  also 
held  beneficence  to  be  an  important  virtue.  No  doubt  they  did,  but 
Christ,  instead  of  declaring  beneficence  to  be  a  virtue,  merges  all  virtue 
in  beneficence.  In  his  account  of  the  judgment  of  men  (Matt,  xxv), 
all  that  we  commonly  call  morality  disappears  ;  not  a  word  is  said  of 
honesty,  purity,  fidelity ;  active  beneficence  is  made  the  one  and  only 
test :  those  who  have  fed  the  hungry  are  accepted,  those  who  have 
not  done  so  are  rejected.  And  the  same  view  of  virtue  as  necessarily 
and  principally  an  activity  is  presented  in  the  Parable  of  the  Talents, 
where  all  that  men  possess  is  represented  as  capital  belonging  to  the 
Supreme  King,  the  interest  of  which  He  exacts  under  the  heaviesi 


PREFACE  SUPPLEMENTARY. 


xii 

penalties.  It  may  well  be  doubted  whether  anything  approaching  the 
rigor  of  this  doctrine  can  be  found  even  in  the  writings  of  philoso* 
phers ;  and  it  is,  in  the  opinion  of  the  present  writer,  not  doubtful  that 
it  was  utterly  strange  to  the  popular  and  accepted  moral  code  of  the 
ancients. 

The  question  is  likely  to  occur  to  many  readers,  If  this  was  the  ob 
ject  of  the  institution  Christ  founded,  has  it  not  failed?  Have  man¬ 
kind  been  so  disciplined  by  it  that  these  virtues  have  become  common, 
or  are  they  as  difficult  and  as  rare  as  ever  they  were  ?  On  the  other 
hand  do  not  these  virtues,  when  they  appear,  appear  as  often  outside 
the  Christian  Church  as  within  its  pale  ?  May  it  not  even  be  said  that 
at  the  present  day  the  morality  of  Christians  is  of  a  languid  and  con¬ 
ventional  sort,  and  that  the  freshest,  most  vigorous,  and  healthy  virtue 
is  displayed  by  some  of  those  who  are  not  Christians?  To  these  ques¬ 
tions  the  writer  would  reply,  The  Christian  Church  has  not  failed  alto¬ 
gether,  but  it  has  certainly  failed  grievously.  It  has  made  men  to  a 
certain  extent  philanthropical,  it  has  made  them  for  the  most  part 
ashamed  of  extreme  revenge,  it  has  considerably  elevated  and  purified 
the  female  sex.  In  the  Middle  Ages  it  had  great  success  in  uniting 
different  races.  On  the  other  hand  it  must  be  confessed,  that  since 
the  Reformation  it  has  acted  rather  as  a  dividing  than  a  uniting  influ¬ 
ence,  and  further,  that  through  a  great  part  of  its  history  it  has  been  a 
too  consistent  enemy  of  freedom.  It  has  been  over  and  over  again 
the  main  support  of  tyranny  ;  over  and  over  again  it  has  consecrated 
misgovernment,  and  retarded  political  and  social  progress ;  repeatedly 
it  has  suppressed  truth,  and  entered  into  conspiracy  with  error  and  im¬ 
posture  ;  and  at  the  present  day  it  fails  most  in  that  which  its  Founder 
valued  most,  originality  ;  it  falls  into  that  vice  which  he  most  earnestly 
denounced,  insipidity.  On  the  other  hand,  nothing  is  plainer  than 
the  illustrious  instances  of  virtue  in  men  who  are  not  Christians.  We 
see  around  us  those  who  have  never  had  a  Christian  training,  and 
others  who  have  quarrelled  with  and  renounced  their  Christianity,  who 
yet  exhibit  all  the  tenderness,  the  devotedness,  the  ardent  elevation  of 
which  Christ  gave  us  the  example,  and  along  with  it  a  freshness  which 
Christians  generally  want 


PREFACE  SUPPLEMENTARY. 


XU1 


All  this  may  be  conceded  without  conceding  for  a  moment  that  the 
world  can  do  without  Christ  and  his  Church.  If  a  high  and  complete 
morality  often  exists  outside  the  Church,  it  does  not  ofte-n  exist  inde¬ 
pendent  of  it.  The  atmosphere  of  Europe  has  been  saturated  for  some 
fifteen  centuries  with  Christian  principles,  and  however  far  the  rebel¬ 
lion  against  the  Church  may  have  spread,  it  may  still  be  called  the 
Moral  University  of  the  world,  — not  merely  the  greatest,  but  the  only 
great  School  of  Virtue  existing.  While  this  is  so  it  is  idle  for  any 
virtue  that  springs  up  in  its  neighborhood  to  claim  to  be  independent 
of  it  Christian  influences  are  in  the  air  ;  our  very  conception  of  vir¬ 
tue  is  Christian  ;  the  tone,  the  habits  of  sentiment  and  language — in 
short,  all  the  associations  of  virtue  —  have  been  furnished  by  the  dis¬ 
cipline  of  the  Christian  Church.  Again,  if  instances  of  high  morality 
are  cited,  as  they  certainly  may  be,  from  the  times  before  Christianity, 
or,  as  they  probably  may  be,  from  countries  remote  from  Christianity, 
the  writer  has  only  to  remark  that  he  does  not  represent  the  Church 
as  the  only  virtue-making  institution,  but  as  the  only  institution  which 
is  distinctively  and  deliberately  such,  and  the  one  which  inherits  the 
most  complete  ideal  of  virtue.  What  Christianity  does  —  or  rather 
can  do  —  easily  and  of  set  purpose,  many  other  organizations,  philo¬ 
sophical  schools,  civil  societies,  &c.,  do  inadequately  and  accidentally, 
and  it  is  not  at  all  surprising  that,  in  a  few  happy  cases,  they  shonld 
produce  examples  equal  to  those  which  have  been  produced  in  the 
Church.  On  the  other  hand,  the  abuses  and  corruptions  of  the 
Church,  however  gross,  are  no  arguments  against  the  utility  of  the 
institution,  unless  they  can  be  shown  to  be  inseparable  from  it.  The 
present  writer  holds  that,  however  inveterate,  most  of  them  are  strictly 
accidental.  The  causes  of  them,  he  believes,  can  be  traced,  though 
to  trace  them  is  not  his  present  business.  But  he  believes  the  root  of 
all  evil  in  the  Church  to  be  the  imagination  that  it  exists  for  any  other 
purpose  than  to  foster  virtue,  or  can  be  prosperous  except  so  far  as  it 
does  this.  Regarding  the  abuses  as  explicable,  he  regards  them  also 
as  in  an  indefinite  degree  curable ;  and  if  he  admits  that  the  Church 
has  failed,  he  maintains,  at  the  same  time,  that  it  has  only  failed  as 
civil  society  itself  has  failed.  If  the  object  of  civil  society  be  the  se¬ 
curity  of  life  and  property,  and  increase  of  prosperity  through  the  di* 


XIV 


PREFACE  SUPPLEMENTARY. 


vision  of  labor,  civil  society  is  not  a  success.  Men  are  robbed  and 
murdered,  whole  classes  live  in  pauperism,  insecurity,  slavery.  A  suf¬ 
ficient  reason  for  dissatisfaction,  a  good  ground  for  complaint !  But 
not  a  sufficient  reason  for  dissolving  civil  society,  and  relapsing  into 
the  nomad  state.  In  like  manner,  if  the  Church  has  failed,  let  us  re¬ 
form  it,  but  we  can  ill  afford  to  sever  the  strongest  and  most  sacred  tie 
that  binds  men  to  each  other. 

Lastly,  to  those  critics  who  have  complained  of  the  defectiveness  and 
incompleteness  of  this  book,  he  answers  that  a  fragment  means  a  de¬ 
fective  and  incomplete  thing,  and  that  this  book  was  expressly  an¬ 
nounced  as  a  fragment.  To  those  who  say  that  half  truths  are  some¬ 
times  equivalent  to  whole  falsehoods,  he  answers  that  it  is  only  so 
when  they  set  themselves  up  for  whole  truths.  To  those  who  speak 
of  him  as  having  concealed  his  theological  opinions,  he  replies  that  he 
has  concealed  them  only  in  the  sense  in  which  the  vast  majority  of  the 
community  have  concealed  them  ;  that  is,  he  has  not  published  them. 
To  those  who  doubt  whether  it  was  justifiable  to  treat  of  one  part  of 
Christianity  without  treating  at  the  same  time  of  other  parts,  he  replies 
that  their  scruple  seems  to  him  astonishing  and  unreasonable.  And  if 
any  think  his  having  done  so  a  thing  to  be  regretted  and  dangerous, 
he.  On  the  contrary,  believes  it  to  have  been  salutary,  and  is  glad  to 
have  been  able  to  draw  the  attention  of  the  public  to  that  part  of  Chris¬ 
tianity,  and  for  a  time  to  that  part  alone,  in  which  almost  all  men  are 
able  on  the  whole  to  agree,  and  much  of  which  the  greater  number  of 
Christian  teachers,  by  taking  for  granted,  practically  suppress. 


NOTE. 

A  passage  on  page  35  has  been  strangely  misunderstood  by  a  reviewer  in  “  Fraser.’ 
The  passage  runs,  “  It  is  clear  that  this  assumption  of  royalty ....  Did  he  die  for 
a  metaphor?  ” 

On  which  the  critic  remarks  that  the  assumption  of  royalty  was  not  the  ground  of 
Christ’s  execution,  because  Pilate  was  satisfied  with  the  explanation  which  Christ 
gave,  and  that  Pilate’s  motive  was  fear  of  the  Jews.  The  author  never  meant  to  say 
anything  different ;  but  he  was  not  speaking  of  Pilate’s  motive,  but  of  the  ground 
on  which  he  officially  proceeded.  The  argument  is,  that  Christ  must  have  attached 
great  importance  to  his  royal  claims,  because  he  advanced  them  although  they  were 
such  as,  satisfactorily  explained  or  not,  the  Roman  provincial  government  could 
scarcely  help  punishing,  —  although,  in  short,  what  actually  happened  might  easily 
oe  foreseen. 


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Date  Due 


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